synopsis — y/n gives jimin a brick as a joke for christmas. but after the party, y/n reveals the real gift—and the feelings she’s been hiding for years. under a mistletoe, two longtime friends finally stop pretending and turn christmas into the start of something more.
pairing — y. jimin x fem!reader
genre — slowburn-ish, friends to lovers, mutual pining
10 DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS YES!!!!
&&. masterlist
the living room is looking like a crime scene.
tinsel everywhere. empty soda cans. half-eaten cookies. ningning is actively fighting minjeong over a santa hat. jimin is sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at a gift like it personally wronged her.
“okay,” she says slowly. “who the fuck gave me a weapon.”
you’re on the couch pretending not to hear, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it hurts.
“it’s from y/n,” aeri reads from the tag, instantly snitching.
jimin looks up at you. deadpan. “why is it heavy.”
you shrug. “open it.”
she shakes it.
thud.
minjeong gasps. “IS THAT A BRICK—”
jimin opens the box.
it’s a literal brick. wrapped nicely. ribbon and all.
then—
“Y/N,” jimin says flatly, holding it up. “what the fuck is this.”
you lose it. full laughter. doubled over. wheezing.
“it’s for your future house,” you say between laughs. “i thought you’d like something useful.”
she stares at you. jaw clenched. eyes narrowed.
“…you’re a bitch.”
“a thoughtful one.”
ningning is crying laughing. aeri is filming. minjeong chants “brick! brick! brick!” like this isn’t the stupidest thing that’s ever happened.
jimin puts the brick down gently.
“i’m keeping this,” she says. “as evidence.”
“of what.”
“of betrayal.”
but she’s smiling. just a little.
and that’s what gets you.
the party keeps going.
music’s loud. laughter’s easy. everyone’s tipsy and warm and happy and you’re pretending your heart isn’t doing stupid shit every time jimin looks at you.
she sits next to you eventually, shoulder brushing yours.
“you planned that, didn’t you,” she mutters.
“planned what.”
“making me look stupid.”
you grin. “you do that on your own.”
she scoffs, nudging you with her knee. “i hate you.”
you look at her. really look.
the soft curve of her smile. the way her eyes crinkle. the way she always leans toward you without realizing.
“…yeah,” you say quietly. “sure.”
she glances at you then, like she heard something else in your voice.
but ningning interrupts by shoving a cookie in her mouth and the moment’s gone.
again.
it’s always like that.
by the time the apartment empties out, it’s late.
jackets are gone. lights are dim. the brick is still on the coffee table like a silent threat.
jimin’s helping clean up when you clear your throat.
“hey,” you say. “wait.”
she turns. “what’s up.”
you reach into your bag.
your hands are shaking. stupidly embarrassing.
“that wasn’t… your real gift,” you say.
her brow furrows. “yeah, i figured.”
you pull out a small box. lighter. softer. real.
she takes it carefully this time.
inside is a silver keychain. simple. engraved.
always home.
she freezes.
“…y/n.”
“i know it’s cheesy,” you rush. “but you’re always giving pieces of yourself to everyone else and i just— i wanted you to have something that stays with you.”
she swallows.
“you already gave me a brick.”
“shut up.”
she laughs, but it cracks a little.
then she looks up at you.
“why are you doing this,” she asks softly.
you don’t dodge it this time.
“because i’ve liked you for a long time,” you say. “and i got tired of pretending i don’t.”
your chest feels like it might cave in.
then—
“…good,” jimin says.
you blink. “good?”
she steps closer. voice quiet. honest.
“because i’ve liked you too. for a long time.”
your heart stops. restarts wrong.
“you’re serious?”
she nods. “sadly.”
you don’t even notice it at first.
minjeong’s dumbass decoration job. a single sprig of mistletoe taped crookedly to the ceiling.
jimin looks up.
then back at you.
“…of course,” she mutters.
you laugh nervously. “we don’t have to—”
she reaches out, fingers brushing your hand.
“i want to.”
the kiss is soft. hesitant. warm.
just her lips against yours, like she’s been waiting.
when she pulls back, she rests her forehead against yours.
“merry christmas,” she whispers.
you smile.
“merry christmas, homeowner.”
later, when you’re both leaving, jimin picks up the brick.
she hands it to you.
“you keep it,” she says.
you blink. “what? no.”
“so when i get my future house,” she adds, smiling, “you’ll remember you’re part of it.”
your chest aches.
“…that was smooth.”
“i know.”
she kisses you again. quick. sweet.
and somewhere between the brick and the mistletoe, you both finally stop pretending.
The tapping is the first thing you notice when you step onto the second-to-last floor of the SM building. Jimin's foot bouncing against the tile floor, nervous energy bleeding out through that one repetitive motion. She's hunched over her phone, thumb scrolling, and even from behind you can see the tension in her shoulders.
You reach over and pluck the phone from her hands.
"Hey—"
"Not good for you," you say, holding it out of reach. "Watching that shit."
She spins around in her chair and her whole expression shifts when she sees you. Relief floods her face and she's up in a second, hands grabbing your shirt as she pulls you down into a hug. It's quick but desperate, like she needed to confirm you're actually here.
When she pulls back, her eyes drop to the cup in your other hand.
"That much caffeine isn't good for you either." She takes it right out of your grip before you can protest.
"It's my first cup of the day."
Jimin gives you this look. The kind that says she knows you're full of shit.
"Okay, second."
She doesn't break eye contact.
You sigh. "Third. But in my defense, I couldn't sleep last night. This whole... everything is driving me fucking crazy."
"Yeah." Her fingers trace the rim of your coffee cup. "Me neither. Especially after they called us in."
You hand her phone back and she stares at it for a moment before shoving it in her pocket. The SM building today feels much more oppressive than it normally does. Too bright, too sterile. White walls and uncomfortable chairs and that generic corporate smell of air conditioning.
Jimin moves to the wall and leans against it, arms crossed over her chest. "How did this even happen?" Her head tilts back, eyes on the ceiling. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have kissed you."
"Stop."
"I mean it. If I hadn't—"
"Jimin." You step closer. "It's not your fault. You kissed me, and I dared you to do it again. So technically it's both our faults, but really? It's neither. It's whoever the fuck leaked that footage."
She shakes her head, and there's this lost quality to how she's looking at nothing in particular. "It feels like everything's falling apart. Two days ago, everything was perfect. I was the happiest I've ever been. And now..."
The sentence just dies there.
You pull her into a hug and she melts into it, face buried against your chest. "The bright side," you say into her hair, "is that if we make it through this shitstorm, we won't have to hide anymore. No more sneaking around. No more pretending we're just friends. It's a necessary hell."
"Necessary hell." She laughs weakly. "That's one way to put it."
"I'm serious though. After this, it's done. The worst will be over."
She pulls back just enough to look at you. "Thank you. For being here. For not..." She doesn't finish but you know what she means. For not running.
"I'm with you until the end. I know what's at stake for you." You're trying so hard to be her anchor right now, to be the steady thing she can hold onto. But the truth is you're just as terrified as she is. Maybe more. Because she's Karina, she's survived scandals and hate and the brutal machinery of the industry. You're just some guy who accidentally became the center of a media shitstorm.
But then you remember the hotel room two days ago. How she held you when you were the one falling apart, how she fought through your insecurities and showed you exactly what you mean to her. This is your turn. Time to be strong for her.
The door opens and a woman in a sleek black blazer appears. Mid-thirties, clipboard in hand, expression professionally neutral.
"They're ready for you now."
You and Jimin exchange a look. Her hand finds yours and you hold tight as you walk down the hallway. The secretary's heels click in front of you. When you reach the door, you both stop. Your hands separate slowly, reluctantly.
Jimin turns to face you fully. "No matter what happens in there," she says, "I'm not staying away from you. Whatever they say, whatever they want. I won't."
You smile despite everything. "I know."
You push the door open together.
The office, as you already expected, is big and imposing. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking Seoul, expensive furniture, and behind a massive desk sits Lee Soo-man's successor as the real power at SM Entertainment: Vice Chairman Kim Youngmin. Late forties, silver starting to thread through his hair, wearing a suit that probably cost as much as a small car. He built half of SM's current roster and has a reputation for being brilliant and absolutely ruthless.
"Please, sit." He gestures to the two chairs across from his desk.
You and Jimin sit. The chairs are less comfortable than they look.
"We know," you both say, almost in unison.
Kim Youngmin leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Let me lay out where we are. The footage has been circulating for approximately eighteen hours. Major news outlets picked it up within four. Trending on every platform. Twitter, Instagram, Naver, Weibo. The comments sections are..." He pauses. "Volatile."
"This conversation shouldn't even be happening," Jimin says. "We're not criminals."
"No, you're not." Kim Youngmin's expression doesn't change. "But you are under contract, Jimin. Section 7, subsection C. Public image and conduct clauses. I'm sure you remember signing it. The situation is delicate," he continues, pulling out a tablet and sliding it across the desk. You can see metrics, graphs, social media analytics. "Your individual brand value dropped 23% overnight. aespa's group endorsements are being reviewed by three major sponsors. We've had calls from luxury brands reconsidering their ambassador contracts. Your upcoming comeback promotion schedule is in jeopardy."
Jimin opens her mouth but you touch her arm lightly. A signal. Stay calm. She glances at you and takes a breath.
Kim Youngmin isn't done. "I need you both to understand the scope of what we're dealing with. This isn't just about you two having a... personal relationship. This impacts your group members, their careers, the company's stock price, investor confidence. There are hundreds of people whose livelihoods depend on aespa's success. The timing couldn't be worse with your world tour announcement scheduled for next month."
He's being professional about it, clinical even, but every word makes it sound like your relationship is a catastrophic mistake. Like you're the problem that needs to be solved.
"What about whoever leaked the footage?" Jimin's hands are balled into fists on her lap. "That's who you should be going after. We're sitting here like we did something wrong when someone invaded our privacy and weaponized it. That's the actual crime here."
"We are working on it," Kim Youngmin says smoothly. "Legal is coordinating with the police, IT is tracing the source. But that investigation will take weeks, possibly months. Right now, we have more pressing concerns. Damage control. Public perception. Your career."
"My career," Jimin repeats flatly.
"Yes." He pulls the tablet back, swipes a few times. "Which brings us to the response options. We need to make a decision within the next twelve hours. The longer we wait, the more the narrative spirals out of our control."
You feel your heart rate pick up. Here it comes.
"Option one." Kim Youngmin looks directly at Jimin. "We deny the relationship entirely. Claim the footage is a deepfake. AI-generated. There are precedents for this approach in the industry. We'd bring in digital forensics experts, release statements questioning the video's authenticity, suggest anti-fan sabotage."
"But it's not a deepfake.” you point out.
"Obviously. Which makes it difficult to prove. We'd be playing a long game, counting on public doubt and the media cycle moving on. It's risky. If the denial falls apart, the backlash would be worse than the original scandal. Trust issues, accusations of lying to fans."
Jimin is staring at the desk, processing.
"Option two," he continues. "We acknowledge the video is real but deny the romantic relationship. You and—" he glances at you, "—have known each other since childhood. The kiss was a moment of platonic affection between old friends. Perhaps celebratory, perhaps taken out of context. Young people today are more socially open to hugs and kisses than older generations used to be. We could frame it as conservative fans misunderstanding cultural norms."
"That's bullshit," Jimin says quietly.
"It's a narrative. Will everyone believe it? No. But it gives your hardcore fans something to defend you with. It provides plausible deniability. The challenge here is consistency. You'd both need to maintain that story indefinitely. Any slip, any future photo or rumor, and the whole thing collapses. And frankly, the way you two were kissing..." He trails off meaningfully. "It would be a difficult sell. But not impossible."
Jimin lets out a long sigh. The mood in the office feels like a full-on funeral - for her career and for your job.
"Option three." Kim Youngmin sets the tablet down. "You confirm the relationship. Full transparency. Release a statement that yes, you're dating. Emphasize the longevity of your connection, childhood friends who reunited, a natural progression. Make it romantic, not scandalous. Paint it as a fairy tale rather than a scandal."
"That's the one," Jimin says immediately.
"It's also the riskiest." His tone is grave. "You would be the first active female idol at your level to publicly confirm a relationship in nearly a decade. The precedent is not encouraging. Several idols faced massive backlash and career impacts despite their groups' success. Male idols have slightly more leeway, but for women? The parasocial relationship with fans is different. Harsher. You'd lose a significant portion of your fanbase. Possibly majority. The hate would be relentless."
"I don't care," Jimin says.
"You should care. We're talking potential group disbandment. Your members would suffer the consequences of your choice. Ning, Giselle, Winter… their careers would be affected. Comeback sales could tank. Concert attendance. Everything."
You feel sick. He's not wrong about the potential fallout. You've seen it happen to other idols.
"And there would be conditions," Kim Youngmin continues. "If you go public, we control the narrative completely. Approved photos, statements, interview responses. Your relationship becomes part of your public brand, which means it's subject to company management. And should things end..." He lets that hang. "The breakup would also be public. Messy. Another news cycle."
Jimin's looking at you now, and you can see the calculation happening behind her eyes. The weight of choosing between her truth and everyone else's careers.
"There's also the matter of your position," Kim Youngmin says, turning his attention to you. "You're an employee. Dating a talent you work with directly violates company policy. Regardless of which option we choose regarding the public narrative, internally there would need to be consequences."
"Consequences,” you repeat.
"Termination, most likely. Or at minimum, reassignment far from any projects involving aespa. We can't have the appearance of impropriety or conflict of interest."
Jimin's hand finds yours between the chairs where he can't see. Her grip is tight.
"So those are the options," Kim Youngmin says. "Think carefully. This decision will define both of your futures.”
"This is unacceptable,” Jimin protests. "He didn't do anything wrong. You want to talk about professionals? Ask anyone who's worked with him. Anyone on the team. He's never once crossed a line, never behaved inappropriately, never let our relationship affect his work. He's been nothing but competent since day one."
Kim Youngmin regards her calmly. "I'm not questioning his competency."
"Then why punish him?" She leans forward. "My boyfriend doesn't deserve to lose his job because someone leaked private footage of us."
"The optics—"
"Fuck the optics!"
There's a pause. You've never heard Jimin talk to a superior like this.
Kim Youngmin adjusts his tie. "The most we can do in the current situation is reassignment. Different department, different projects. You would no longer work with the aespa team in any capacity. No direct contact during work hours. It's either that or termination."
"But that's not even guaranteed," you say, finding your voice. "Right?"
"Correct. It still needs to be discussed with HR and upper management. But if I advocate for it, there's a strong chance they'll approve the transfer rather than dismissal."
You take a breath. The alternative is unemployment in the middle of a scandal with your face plastered everywhere. "Okay. I could accept that."
Jimin's head whips toward you. "What—"
"You both have until tomorrow morning to decide which route to take regarding the public response," Kim Youngmin says, standing. "Ten AM. We'll need your answer then so we can coordinate with PR and legal. Until that time, I strongly suggest you avoid drawing attention to yourselves. No social media, no public appearances. Stay low."
"We need to talk about this more," Jimin argues, almost getting up from her chair. "There has to be another way. You can't just—"
"Jimin." You touch her shoulder and she looks at you. You shake your head slightly.
"But—"
"There's nothing more to discuss right now. This is the scenario we're in."
She stares at you like you've betrayed her somehow, but she also knows you're right. Arguing won't change the options on the table. You both stand. Kim Youngmin walks you to the door, all professional courtesy now that the hard part is over.
"Tomorrow. Ten AM," he repeats.
The hallway feels longer on the way out.
—
You push open the door to your apartment and immediately spot her silhouette by the window. Jimin hasn't moved from that spot since you left forty minutes ago, just standing there watching the city lights blur into the night. You set the grocery bag on the kitchen table, pull off your mask and baseball cap, and walk over to her.
She turns when she hears your footsteps. "Did anyone recognize you?"
"No. I was careful."
"Good."
"It's weird though," you say, coming to stand beside her. "Walking around with this feeling that someone could spot me at any second. Like I'm being hunted. Your face is everywhere but mine's spreading too now. I get it now, how you feel all the time."
That gets a weak chuckle out of her. "Normally it doesn't feel like I'm some kind of outlaw on the run, but yeah. Welcome to my world."
You lean against the window frame. "My mom called while I was out."
Jimin's expression shifts immediately. "What did she say?"
"At first she was super happy. Like, 'I always knew you two would end up together' happy. Going on about how she could tell we had something special even when we were kids, how she was rooting for us this whole time." You smile at the memory of your mom's excited rambling. "Then she got worried. Asked if we were okay, if we needed anything, told me to take care of you. The usual mom stuff."
"I miss her," Jimin says softly. "She's amazing."
"She asked about you too. Wanted to make sure you were holding up."
"What'd you tell her?"
"That we're managing. That we've got each other."
Jimin nods but doesn't say anything. You can see the weight settling back over her shoulders, that thing that's been there since you walked out of Kim Youngmin's office.
You move to the couch and she follows automatically, arranging herself on your lap like she's done a hundred times before. Her legs drape over yours, body tucked into your chest. This close, you can feel how tense she is despite the casual positioning.
"The protest trucks in front of SM today," she says quietly. "Did you see them?"
"I saw photos online."
"The things they wrote..." Her voice trails off and you can fill in the blanks. You've seen enough of the comments, the trending hashtags, the coordinated hate campaigns.
"Don't think about it."
"How can I not? They're calling me every name you can imagine. Saying I betrayed them, that I'm selfish, that I don't deserve to be an idol. Some of them are sending funeral wreaths to the company. Funeral wreaths. Like I died."
You tilt her chin up and kiss her, trying to pour reassurance into it. When you pull back, you keep your forehead pressed to hers. "This will all pass. I promise."
"You don't know that."
"Think about it like getting really sick. You know that feeling? When you're lying in bed with the flu or food poisoning and you're convinced you're dying? It feels like the end of the world. Like you'll never feel normal again. But you do. Eventually it passes, your body heals, and you forget what it felt like to be that miserable. We're sick right now. The whole situation is sick. But we'll get better. You and I, we'll get better from this."
She searches your face and there's something like hope starting to break through the despair. "Since when do you use metaphors?"
"I'm training. Figure after SM fires me, I can start my writing career. Become a novelist or something."
That actually makes her laugh, a real one this time. "How are you being funny right now? At a moment like this?"
You shrug, lips quirking. "What else can I do? Our fate is in someone else's hands now. Might as well laugh while we wait for them to decide what happens to us."
She shakes her head but she's smiling, and you count that as a win. You slowly lie back on the couch, bringing her down with you. She settles fully on top of your chest, her weight grounding and familiar. You start petting her hair, running your fingers through the dark strands, and her eyes flutter closed.
"I don't care about losing the job if I still have you," you say into the quiet. "That's the truth. They can transfer me, fire me, whatever. As long as you're still here, I can handle anything else."
Her arms tighten around you, face pressing harder into your chest. "I love you," she whispers.
"I love you too."
"I mean it. I really love you. More than..." She takes a shaky breath. "More than I thought I could love anyone."
You keep stroking her hair, feeling her slowly start to relax into your touch. "I don't care about losing my career if it means I get to keep you," Jimin says suddenly. "If tomorrow Kim Youngmin says I have to choose between being Karina or being with you, I choose you. Every time. I'll choose you every time."
You weren't expecting that. Not really. You knew she loved you, knew she was serious about this relationship, but hearing her say she'd walk away from everything she's worked for since she was a teenager? That she'd give up aespa and the fame and the dream she's been chasing her whole life?
"Jimin—"
"I mean it." She props herself up to look at you directly and there are tears in her eyes. "I know what that sounds like. I know it's crazy. But these past few weeks with you have been the happiest I've ever been, and that includes every award, every sold-out show, every milestone. None of it means anything if I can't share it with you. If I have to pretend you don't exist or hide what we have or lose you completely? Then what's the point?"
You reach up and wipe the tear that's tracking down her cheek. "You really mean that."
"Yes." No hesitation. "I really mean it."
And you believe her. You can see it in her eyes, hear it in the way her voice doesn't waver. She would actually do it. She would walk away from Karina, from aespa, from the entire life she's built, if it meant keeping what you have together.
The weight of that kind of love is almost unbearable.
You pull her down and kiss her like you're trying to merge your souls, like you can somehow show her through this kiss what you can't find words for. She kisses back just as desperately, and when you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard.
"Tomorrow," you say. "We'll face whatever comes tomorrow. But right now, right here, we're okay. We have each other. That's enough."
She nods against your chest, and you hold her tighter as the night deepens around you. Whatever Kim Youngmin says, whatever options get chosen, whatever consequences rain down; you'll face it together. And that makes even the impossible seem survivable.
—
The next morning, you're both wearing your most professional outfits. Jimin in a black blazer and slacks that make her look like she means business, you in the nicest suit you own. It feels weird, getting dressed up for what's essentially a firing squad, but appearances matter. Especially now.
The conference room on the executive floor is bigger than the one yesterday, with a long table that could seat twenty people. You and Jimin take seats on one side. Across from you sits Kim Youngmin, flanked by two other executives you recognize from company events but have never actually spoken to. A woman in her fifties with severe glasses, head of PR. A younger guy, maybe early forties, from the legal department.
The door opens again and Winter walks in first, followed by Ning and Giselle. They look worried, eyes immediately finding Jimin. Winter sits next to her and squeezes her hand under the table. Ningning takes the seat on Jimin's other side. Giselle sits next to you, giving you a small encouraging nod.
"Thank you all for coming," Kim Youngmin says once everyone's settled. "I know this is an unusual situation, having the full group present for what is essentially a personal matter. But given the circumstances and the impact on aespa as a whole, we felt it was necessary for everyone to be informed and involved in the decision."
The PR head adjusts her glasses. "As you're all aware, footage of Jimin and—" she glances at you, "—was leaked two days ago. The response has been significant and largely negative. We've been monitoring the situation closely."
"Largely negative is putting it mildly," Giselle mutters.
The woman ignores that. "We presented two options to Jimin yesterday. After taking time to consider, we need their final decision on how to proceed. This will determine our response strategy, PR approach, and the immediate future of aespa's scheduled activities."
Kim Youngmin looks directly at Jimin. "So. What have you decided?"
You and Jimin exchange a look. You saw the fear in her eyes last night, but also the determination. You talked until almost three in the morning, weighing everything, playing out scenarios. In the end, it came down to one question: could you live with lying? Could she?
The answer was no.
Jimin sits up straighter, and when she speaks, there’s a firmness in her voice that almost makes it seem like she isn’t scared inside: "We want to confirm the relationship. No denials, no deepfake claims, no pretending we're just friends. The truth."
Winter, Ning, and Giselle immediately break into relieved smiles. Ningning actually does a little fist pump under the table.
The executives, on the other hand, look at each other with these grim expressions that say they were hoping you'd pick literally any other option.
"You understand the risks," the PR head says. It's not a question.
"Yes."
"The potential career impact. The fan backlash. The—"
"I understand," Jimin says firmly. "This is our final decision."
Kim Youngmin leans back in his chair. "Alright then. Here's what happens now. SM will begin preparing an official statement. It will be released tomorrow afternoon through all official channels; website, social media, press release to major outlets. The statement will confirm the relationship, emphasize the long-term friendship foundation, and request respect for your privacy going forward."
"aespa's activities will be temporarily paused," the legal guy adds, pulling out a folder of documents. "Scheduled appearances are being canceled or postponed. The photo shoot for Elle next week is off. The variety show filming is off. Radio interviews, all off."
"Anything that involves public promotion or group appearances, yes. Previous commitments that are already completed will still be released as planned. The makeup campaign you filmed last month will still air, the photoshoot from two weeks ago will still be published. But new activities are suspended indefinitely."
Winter's face has gone pale. "For how long?"
"Until we can properly assess the situation and gauge public sentiment. Could be a few weeks, could be months."
"What about the international tour?" Giselle asks. "The official announcement will be next month.”
The PR head exchanges a look with Kim Youngmin. "That's still being decided. We need to see how Western fans react to the news. If the response is as hostile as it is domestically, it might be better to cancel and issue refunds. If there's more support internationally, we may proceed as planned but with modified promotion."
The girls look gutted. You know how much they were looking forward to that tour. The LA stop. New York. London. It was supposed to be huge for them.
Jimin's grip on Winter's hand tightens but she keeps her expression neutral. "And what about him?" She tilts her head toward you. "Is he getting fired?"
"We will attempt to reassign him to a different management team," Kim Youngmin says. "Another group, ideally one with no connection to aespa. If HR approves the transfer, we'll notify him by next week. If they don't..." He doesn't need to finish that sentence.
"That's bullshit," Giselle says bluntly. "He's good at his job. This has nothing to do with his competency."
"It's a conflict of interest situation. We have to maintain certain standards."
"Whose standards?" Winter asks, and wow, you've never heard her sound angry before. She's usually the sweet one. "You're punishing them for being happy."
"We're managing a crisis," the PR head snaps. "One that could have been avoided if proper boundaries had been maintained."
"Okay," you say, because this is getting heated and the last thing Jimin needs is her members getting in trouble on your behalf. "Okay. I accept the terms. The reassignment or whatever happens. Let's just move forward."
Kim Youngmin nods like he appreciates you defusing the situation. "One more thing, Jimin. Do not post anything on social media during this period. No statements, no photos, no Instagram stories. Nothing. All communication goes through official SM channels. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Alright then." He closes his folder. "We'll be in touch with updates as the situation develops. For now, I suggest you all go home and prepare for the statement release tomorrow. It's going to be a media circus."
The meeting ends with a weird formal feeling, everyone standing and gathering their things in stiff silence. The executives leave first. Once they're gone, the atmosphere shifts immediately.
Ningning throws her arms around Jimin. "I'm so proud of you."
"Me too," Winter says, joining the hug. "That took guts."
Giselle wraps her arms around all of them, creating this group huddle thing. You stand awkwardly to the side until Giselle reaches out and yanks you into it.
"You too," she says. "You're part of this now."
When they finally break apart, Jimin has tears in her eyes but she's smiling. "Thank you. God, thank you guys so much. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'd probably make terrible decisions," Ningning teases. "Good thing you have us."
"Seriously though," Winter says, "we're here. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. We're sisters. This doesn't change that."
"If anything, it makes us stronger," Giselle adds. "Fuck the haters. We're aespa. We've been through worse."
"Have we though?" Ningning asks.
"Okay, maybe not worse. But we'll get through this too."
They migrate into the hallway, instinctively forming this protective circle around Jimin. You hang back slightly, giving them space, but Jimin reaches for your hand and pulls you into the group.
"There's nothing we can do right now except wait," Winter says. "You guys did what you could. Made your choice. Now it's out of your hands."
"Use this time to rest," Ningning suggests. "Get away from the internet. Don't read the comments, don't check Twitter, just... exist for a while without all the noise."
"She's right," Giselle says. "The next few weeks are going to be hell. Take care of each other. Sleep. Eat actual food. Watch stupid movies. Do normal people things."
Jimin nods, wiping at her eyes. "I love you guys. So much."
"We love you too," they say in unison, and then they're hugging again.
You watch them and smile proudly at this group. Whatever happens, Jimin has this. She has people who love her unconditionally, who'll stand by her even when the world turns hostile. That matters more than any tour or commercial deal. Then, eventually they have to go. Ning has a vocal lesson, Winter has a meeting with her personal trainer, Giselle has a photoshoot for a magazine. They extract themselves reluctantly, making Jimin promise to text them later, to let them know she's okay.
Once they're gone, Jimin turns to you in the quiet hallway. "What are we going to do now?"
You've been thinking about this since last night. About what she needs, what you both need. How to get through the storm that's about to hit.
"I have something in mind," you say.
She looks up at you, curious. "Yeah?"
"Trust me?"
"Always.”
—
The bus drops you off at the main intersection and from there it's a fifteen minute walk. Gapyeong is exactly what you remembered, this small quiet city about an hour outside Seoul where time moves differently. Slower. The air smells cleaner here, pine trees and fresh water from the nearby river instead of exhaust fumes and convenience store kimchi. It's a beautiful afternoon, the kind where the sun hits everything at this perfect golden angle that makes even ordinary things look special.
You and Jimin are both hauling suitcases and backpacks, dressed down in hoodies and masks and baseball caps. Incognito mode. Nobody's recognized you yet, which feels like a small miracle considering your faces have been plastered across every news site in Korea for the past two days.
"It's this street," you say, checking your phone one last time before you shut it off completely. "Should be the fourth house on the left."
Jimin adjusts her backpack strap. "I can't believe we're actually doing this. Just disappearing."
"For a week. Then we'll face reality again."
"A week sounds perfect."
You find the house and stop in front of it. It's exactly how you remember it from your childhood visits, a small traditional hanok with modern renovations. White walls and dark wood beams, a tiled roof that curves at the edges. There's a small garden in front that's slightly overgrown but charming in that wild way.
"This is it," you say.
Jimin pulls down her mask to get a better look. "Whose place is this?"
"My late grandmother's house. She left it to my cousin when she passed. He's traveling for work right now, some engineering project in Singapore, so the place is empty. I ran into him in Seoul a few days ago, so I asked if you and I could stay at the house for a while. He was actually happy about it. Said as long as we water the plants, we'd be doing him a favor."
You pull out the key from your pocket and unlock the front door. When it swings open you're hit with that smell, the one that's pure nostalgia. Wood and aged paper and the subtle scent of flowers in the backyard. The interior is clean and well maintained despite being empty. Your cousin clearly takes care of the place even when he's not living here.
Jimin steps inside and immediately does this slow spin, taking everything in. The wooden floors, the traditional sliding doors, the low table in the living room, the small kitchen visible through an archway. "Oh my god. This is beautiful."
"I knew you'd like it."
"Like it? I love it." She sets her suitcase down and walks further in, fingers trailing along the wall. "It feels so... I don't know. Peaceful? Like the outside world doesn't exist here."
"That's kind of the point."
She turns back to you and there's this lightness in her expression that you haven't seen since before the leak. "Show me around?"
You give her the tour. It's not a big house but every room has character. The main bedroom with its floor mattress and the window that overlooks the backyard garden. The second smaller bedroom that your cousin uses as an office. The bathroom with its traditional tub. The kitchen with the ancient rice cooker your grandmother refused to replace because it made the best rice.
"We can stay in the main room," you say. "It's got the most space and the best view."
Jimin nods, already pulling clothes out of her suitcase. "I need to change. I've been in these jeans for like six hours."
"Yeah, me too."
You both change into more comfortable clothes. You swap your jeans for sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. Jimin emerges from the bathroom wearing this floral dress, white background with small blue flowers scattered across it. It's simple and summery and makes her look like she belongs in a painting.
"Wow," you say before you can stop yourself.
She does a little twirl. "Too much?"
"Perfect. You look perfect."
She grins and sits down on the edge of the floor mattress, tucking her legs under her. "Okay, so what's the plan? You said you had something in mind. I trust you, obviously. You always come up with the best ideas."
You smile but also feel the pressure of that statement. "Alright, so. I'll admit this one's not as elaborate as the camping trip. Actually, it's simpler. But I think that's what we need right now."
"I'm listening."
You dig into your backpack and pull out something wrapped in brown paper. Jimin watches curiously as you unwrap it to reveal a leather-bound photo album, the kind with blank pages where you manually insert photos. Old school.
She looks confused. "Is that... a notebook?"
"Photo album. And since we're going to be offline for a bit, disconnected from everything digital, I thought we could do something more manual. A special little project." You hold it up. "There's an analog camera here somewhere, my grandfather's old one. The idea is that you and I spend this week walking around the city, taking pictures, filling this album. Real physical photos that we develop and then put them in here.”
Jimin's eyes are getting wider.
"And in the future," you continue, "when we look back on this time in our lives, we won't remember the scandal or the hate or the fear. We'll remember this album. These photos. The memories we made together when everything else was falling apart."
"YES!" Jimin literally shouts it, jumping up from the mattress. "Oh my god, yes! That's brilliant! That's so romantic!"
She throws herself at you, nearly knocking you over. Her arms wrap around your neck and she's kissing you, fast excited kisses all over your face.
"This is perfect," she says between kisses. "This is the most beautiful thing anyone's ever planned for me. We're going to fill that whole album. Every single page."
"I was hoping you'd be into it."
"Into it? I'm obsessed with it. Come on, let's go right now." She grabs your hand and starts pulling you toward the door.
You laugh, holding her back. "Wait, wait. We need the camera first. And the film rolls. And we also need to water the plants in the backyard before we leave. My cousin specifically asked about the plants."
She stops, composing herself. "Right. You're right. Okay. Camera first. Where is it?"
"Honestly? No idea. I haven't been here in years. We'll have to search for it."
You both start looking through the house. Jimin takes the office room, going through drawers and closets. You check the main bedroom, looking in the wardrobe and under the bed. Nothing. You move to the living room, checking the cabinets built into the walls. Still nothing.
"Found film!" Jimin calls from the office. "There's like, a whole box of unused rolls."
"Nice. Keep looking for the camera."
Ten minutes later, you're starting to worry your grandfather's camera got lost or donated when Jimin calls out from the kitchen.
"Got it!"
You rush in and find her holding up a vintage Canon AE-1, the black body a little worn but clearly well cared for. There's a lens attached and a brown leather strap.
"Where was it?"
"In the cabinet above the fridge. There's a whole shelf of random stuff up there."
You take the camera from her, feeling the weight of it. It's heavier than modern cameras, solid and real in your hands. You pop open the back to check the mechanisms and everything looks functional.
"This was my grandfather's," you say, running your thumb over the grip. "He developed this little hobby for photography when he got older. Started taking tons of photos. He loved photographing my grandmother especially. Just candid shots of her cooking or reading or tending the garden. She'd always complain about it but you could tell she secretly loved the attention."
Jimin moves closer, looking at the camera with new appreciation.
"When he got sick," you continue, "near the end, he told me he wanted me to have this. Made me promise I'd take care of it, use it, keep taking pictures. But I never came back here to pick it up after he passed. Life got busy, I went to study abroad, and I just... forgot. I don't know. It's a strange feeling. But now feels like the right time, you know? Like maybe he was waiting for this moment."
Jimin's hand finds yours. "I remember when you'd come here on weekends. You'd come back with all these funny stories about your grandparents. Your grandmother teaching you to make kimchi, your grandfather showing you his garden. I always wanted to come with you so badly."
"You did?"
"Yeah. I'd ask my parents all the time if I could tag along, but they never let me. Said it was family time and I shouldn't intrude." She looks around the house again, this wistful expression on her face. "I used to imagine what it was like here. Built this whole fantasy version in my head."
"And now you're here," you say. "With me."
She smiles, that real genuine smile that makes her whole face light up. "Yeah. Now I'm finally here. With you."
You load the film into the camera, the mechanical click satisfying as it catches. "Alright. Camera's ready. We've got film. We just need to water those plants and then we can start our photography adventure."
"Lead the way."
The backyard is a lush, slightly wild patch of green. There are raised beds overflowing with herbs and vegetables you can't name, and a line of clay pots with blooming flowers sits along the stone wall. A hose is coiled up near the back door, but you also spot a vintage-looking metal watering can hanging from a hook on the wall.
"I'll get the plants," Jimin says, taking the watering can.
"Are you sure? I can do it."
"No, I want to. I haven't done anything like this since... ever, probably." She fills the can from the spigot and starts methodically watering the tomato plants.
You watch her for a moment, the afternoon sun filtering through the leaves of a large persimmon tree, catching the highlights in her hair. She's completely absorbed in her task. An idea sparks. You quietly lift your grandfather's camera, holding it up to your eye, pretending it's a full-blown documentary camera.
"And here we are," you say in your best David Attenborough voice, low and serious. "Witnessing something truly rare. The elusive K-pop idol, Yoo Jimin, also known as Karina, spotted far from her natural habitat of sold-out stadiums and blinding camera flashes."
Jimin looks up, a confused smile on her face. "What are you doing?"
"Shhh," you whisper loudly. "We're documenting. Here she is, engaging in... is that manual labor? Yes, it appears to be. Watering plants like an ordinary, common woman. What a historical record for future generations. Notice the technique, the focus. She shows a surprising aptitude for it."
She sighs but can't hide the wide grin spreading across her face. "Oh my god, stop. You're ridiculous." She turns her back to you, pretending to be focused on a pot of basil, but you can see her shoulders shaking with laughter.
"C'mon, don't be camera shy," you continue, circling her. "The world needs to see this. The 'real' Karina. Unplugged. Unfiltered. One with the earth."
She finally turns back, trying and failing to look annoyed. "Don't you have something better to film?"
"Nope. This is the most interesting thing happening in the world right now." You zoom in on her face. "Okay, okay, documentary's over." You pull the camera away from her for a moment. "But seriously, stay right there. Just... smile for me. A real one."
And that's how it starts. The mini photoshoot in the backyard. She doesn't even have to try. Every angle is her best angle. You tell her to lean against the old wooden fence, and she does, looking off into the distance like she's on the cover of some indie folk album. You have her sit on the stone steps of the back porch, and she pulls her knees to her chest, laughing as you tell a joke. She picks a small wildflower and tucks it behind her ear, her expression turning dreamy. She makes you look like some genius photographer, but you know the truth: the camera just loves her. It's impossible to take a bad picture of Yoo Jimin.
At the end of it all, she stands up, brushing her hands on her dress. "Okay, I think my modeling career is officially over. My hands are filthy."
She walks over to the hose to wash them, turning the spigot just enough for a gentle stream. The water splashes over her hands, washing away the dark soil. Her hair, which was perfectly styled this morning, is now loose and a little wild from the breeze and her movements. A smudge of dirt has found its way onto her floral dress, just above the hem. And as she looks up at you, pushing a stray strand of hair from her face, she looks absolutely perfect. Not idol perfect, with the flawless makeup and designer clothes. Just... her. Real and beautiful and standing in your grandmother's backyard.
You raise the camera one last time. The shutter clicks.
You know you've just captured something true.
"What was that one for?" she asks, drying her hands on her dress.
"That," you say, "was the first official photo for our album."
Her face lights up. "We did it! We started!" She runs over and jumps into your arms, wrapping her legs around your waist. "We already have photos! This is going to be the best album ever."
You hold her tight. “It’s going to go down in history as the best amateur photography album,” you say, laughing as you kiss the top of her head.
Finally, after finishing watering the plants, you and Jimin step out of the house. She has the camera strap slung over her shoulder this time. She looks like a tourist, an adventurer, anything but a global superstar on the run from a career-ending scandal.
"Okay," she says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Where to first, Mr. Photographer?"
"I was thinking we'd just... walk. See where the city takes us." You shrug. "No plan. Just moments."
She loves that. Her smile is so wide it makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. "This feels like a movie."
"Which one?"
"I don't know yet. We're writing it as we go."
Your first stop is an old bridge that arches over the Bukhan River. The water flows lazily below, sparkling in the sun. A few fishermen are dotted along the banks, their lines cast out in patient silence. It’s a world away from the frantic energy of Seoul.
"Okay, go stand in the middle," you instruct, already lifting the camera to your eye.
Jimin walks to the center of the bridge and leans against the railing, looking out over the water. The wind gently plays with her hair, and the floral dress flutters around her legs. She’s not posing, not really. She's just being. And it’s breathtaking.
"Did you get it?" she calls out.
"I think so. We'll find out in a few weeks"
She laughs. "The suspense is killing me. My turn."
She runs over, takes the camera from you, and shoves you gently toward the railing. "Your turn to look pensive and handsome."
You feel awkward, unsure what to do with your hands. "I'm not the model here."
"Bullshit. You're my model." She circles you, looking through the viewfinder. "Okay, just… think about something. Something good."
You think about her. About waking up next to her this morning, about the way she laughed when you pretended to be a documentary filmmaker, about how right it feels to be here with her.
"Got it!" she says, looking pleased with herself.
As you wander deeper into the town, you fall into an easy rhythm. You take pictures of her admiring a display of colorful pottery outside a shop. She takes a picture of you buying two ice cream cones from a street vendor. You capture the way she closes her eyes in bliss with her first bite of the strawberry cone. She captures the smear of chocolate you have on your nose. Each click of the shutter feels like you're bottling a little piece of this perfect day.
You find a quiet side street lined with old bookstores and small, independent cafes. The walls are covered in layers of faded murals and peeling paint, a collage of history and art.
"Oh, this is beautiful," Jimin says, running her hand over a painting of a giant koi fish. "This reminds me of that movie. You know the one."
"Which one?"
"Before Sunrise." she answers softly. "Two people, just walking and talking through a beautiful city, falling in love. That's us right now. Except we're already in love."
"I think that makes it the sequel," you say, leaning against the wall next to her. "Before Sunset."
"The one where they find each other again after years apart? Oh my god, that's even more us!" She looks at you, her eyes shining. "This whole day feels like a scene from it. Just… us against the world, making our own little bubble."
You reach out and tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "I'd walk through a thousand cities with you."
"Good. Because I'd want you to."
She raises the camera and snaps a picture of you, so close you can hear the whir of the film advancing. Then she hands the camera back.
"We need one together," she says. "For the first page of the album."
"A selfie with this thing is going to be tricky." You hold the heavy camera at arm's length, trying to angle it so you're both in the frame. It’s awkward and heavy.
"Here, let me." Jimin squeezes in next to you, her cheek pressing against yours. She wraps her arm around your back, her other hand helping you support the camera. You're tangled up together, laughing as you try to find the shutter button without looking.
"Okay, on three," you say. "Smile."
"One… two…"
She turns at the last second and kisses your cheek.
"Did we get it?" she asks, pulling back with a grin.
"No idea," you laugh. "But if we did, it's a good one."
You can feel the moment solidifying into a memory even as it's happening. The warmth of her body pressed against yours, the scent of her perfume, the feeling of her lips on your skin. This picture, whether it turns out blurry or perfectly in focus, will always be this feeling.
She takes your hand as you continue walking, her fingers laced through yours. "This is the best plan you've ever had," Jimin says quietly, leaning her head on your shoulder as you walk. "Even better than camping."
"I told you it was simpler."
"It's not simple," she counters. "It's… essential. It's real. Just us."
You squeeze her hand. The scandal feels like a bad dream you’re slowly waking up from. It's still out there, waiting for you. But for now, in this quiet city, under the golden afternoon sun, it can’t touch you. So, like this, you two continue, without any clear direction, you wander down the main street until you spot a small family-run restaurant with paper lanterns hanging in the window. The kind of place that's been there for decades, where the menu is handwritten and laminated, slightly faded from years of use.
"You hungry?" you ask.
Jimin nods enthusiastically. "Starving. All this walking and picture taking has me ready to eat everything."
The interior is cozy, maybe six tables total. An older woman greets you with a warm smile and gestures to a table by the window. You slide into the booth across from Jimin, the camera carefully placed on the seat beside you. The menu is simple. Comfort food. Jjigae, bibimbap, various banchan. Perfect.
After you both order bibimbap, Jimin leans forward on her elbows, chin resting in her hands. "You know, I just realized I never asked you about your student exchange. How was it? You were in London, right?"
"Yeah, London. It was really cool, actually. Different from what I expected but in a good way."
"Would you ever want to go back? Like, work there or something?"
You take a sip of the barley tea the woman brought over. The question sits heavier than it should. "Funny you should ask that."
"Why?"
"I've never told anyone this, but..." You pause, tracing the rim of your glass with your finger. "I actually got a job offer there. After I finished the exchange program. A good one too, PR firm, international clients, the whole package."
Jimin's eyebrows shoot up. "Wait, seriously? Why didn't you take it?"
"It was around the time my grandparents passed away. Both of them, same year. Three months apart. My grandmother first, then my grandfather just... gave up, I think. Didn't want to be here without her."
"Oh," Jimin says softly.
"And I was sitting in this tiny London apartment, staring at the job offer email, and I just... couldn't do it. Something about losing them made me realize I didn't want to be far away from the people I love. From family. From home." You meet her eyes. "Something told me I needed to come back, to stay close. And then eventually I ran into you again. Maybe it was a sign, you know? Like I was supposed to find you again."
Jimin's expression has shifted, something tender and aching in it.
"So I'm glad I turned it down," you continue. "My parents don't know about the offer. They'd probably think I was insane for rejecting it. But I don't regret it at all."
You find yourself getting lost in the thought, your gaze drifting to the window where people pass by on the street, living their ordinary lives. "Time passes too quickly to not spend it close to the people you love. That would be too great a sacrifice, you know? I'm probably built wrong for this world." You laugh a little. "Modern capitalism, the current model of society, all of it tells you to chase opportunities, climb ladders, sacrifice everything for career advancement. The way I acted wasn't conventional. Most people would think it's stupid, actually. Objectively stupid."
The food arrives but you barely notice, still caught in your own thoughts.
"And maybe I'll be unemployed now after all this," you say, gesturing vaguely at the situation you're both in. "But at least I found love. At least I have—"
You finally look at Jimin's face to tell her that the only right thing you did was choose to be with her, and you freeze. She's crying. Not sobbing, but tears are streaming down her cheeks, her eyes red and glassy.
"Whoa, hey, why are you crying?" You reach across the table instinctively.
"That's so sad," she says, sniffling. "I didn't know any of that. About your grandparents, both of them in the same year. God."
"Jimin—"
"You must have felt so much pressure at the time." She grabs your hand with both of hers, holding tight. "And you were alone in London dealing with all of it. I wish I'd been there to hug you. To help you through it."
You give a small laugh, squeezing her hands. "It's okay now, baby. You don't need to worry. It was hard, yeah, but it's okay now. Really. You don't need to cry."
"I'm sorry." She wipes at her face with the back of her hand, smudging her minimal makeup. "I just feel so sorry for what you went through. And you never told anyone about the job offer, you've been carrying that alone this whole time."
Without thinking, you reach for the camera and lift it to your eye.
Jimin blinks, startled. "Why did you just take a picture of me like this? I'm a mess."
"I don't know." You set the camera down gently. "It just seemed real. You, right now, caring about something that happened to me years ago. Getting emotional over it. That's real. Genuine, I guess.”
She sniffles, trying to compose herself. "You're so weird, babe."
"You love it."
"I do." A watery smile breaks through. "I love you."
"I love you too.
The restaurant owner brings extra napkins without commenting on Jimin's tears, just gives a knowing, grandmotherly smile before retreating. You finally start eating, the conversation shifting to lighter things, but something has deepened between you. Another layer peeled back, another piece of yourselves shared and held sacred.
You clear your throat, gesturing to the steaming bowls in front of you both. "Come on, let's eat before it gets cold. This looks too good to waste."
Jimin nods, wiping the last traces of tears from her cheeks with the napkin. She picks up her chopsticks and takes her first bite of the bibimbap, mixing the vegetables and rice together. Almost immediately, her expression shifts from emotional vulnerability to pure contentment. Her eyes close and she makes this small sound of satisfaction that makes you smile despite everything. There's something about watching her eat, the way she loses herself in simple pleasures, that makes your chest feel full. She's beautiful like this. Just Jimin, your Jimin, sitting across from you in a small-town restaurant with slightly red eyes, completely absorbed in a bowl of rice and vegetables.
You dig into your own food. The two of you eat in comfortable silence for a while. It's domestic and easy, the kind of moment that doesn't need words to be perfect. At one point she looks up at you mid-bite and just smiles, this soft genuine thing that reaches her eyes, and you think about how you'd give up a thousand job offers in London just to have more moments exactly like this one.
When you're both finished, you flag down the owner and pay the bill despite Jimin's half-hearted protest that she should pay since she's the one with the idol money. You remind her that you're technically still employed for at least another week, so you're taking advantage while you can. That makes her laugh as you both stand and gather your things. Your stomach is full and happy, that pleasant heaviness that comes from a good meal shared with someone you love.
Outside, the late afternoon sun has started its descent, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. Jimin stretches her arms above her head, her dress riding up slightly before she smooths it back down. "Where to now?" she asks, linking her arm through yours. "It's going to get dark soon."
"I've got a few ideas," you start to say, already thinking about the small park you remember from childhood visits, the one with the old pavilion that overlooks the valley. "There's this place I used to go with my grandfather, up on the hill where—"
"Oh my god!"
The sudden shriek cuts you off mid-sentence. You both turn to find a group of four girls, probably late teens or early twenties, frozen on the sidewalk about ten feet away. Their eyes are wide, phones already halfway out of their pockets, staring at Jimin like they've just witnessed a miracle.
"It's Karina!" one of them says with disbelief. "It's actually Karina!"
They rush over in a flurry of excitement. "Hi! Hello! Oh my god, we're such huge fans!" They glance at you briefly, a quick polite nod and a "hello" in your direction, but their focus immediately returns to Jimin, who looks momentarily caught off guard, her body tensing slightly against yours before she smooths her expression into something warm and polite. The switch is so fast you almost miss it, the way she shifts from girlfriend to idol in the span of a heartbeat. "Hi," she says, genuinely kind despite the surprise. "How are you guys?"
"We're amazing! Even better now!" The tallest one of the group, wearing a denim jacket covered in enamel pins, gestures wildly. "You're so much more beautiful in person. Like, you don't even seem real."
Another girl, shorter with glasses, nods enthusiastically. "Seriously, you're like... glowing. How do you even look like this without all the stage makeup?"
Jimin laughs, a little embarrassed. "You guys are too sweet. Really."
"Can we take a picture with you?" the third girl asks, already pulling out her phone. "Please? We'll literally die if we don't."
"Of course," Jimin says without hesitation.
They take turns, each girl getting their individual selfie with her. Jimin knows exactly how to angle herself, which poses look best, where the light hits. She's done this thousands of times and it shows. Each girl looks absolutely euphoric when they check their photo, already probably planning which filter to use and what caption to write. You stand off to the side, holding the analog camera and watching. A couple of them glance at you with knowing looks, probably putting two and two together about who you are, but they don't say anything directly. There's this moment where the girl with the denim jacket meets your eyes and gives you this small nod, almost approving, before turning back to Jimin.
"We just want you to know," the girl with glasses says, "we're so sorry about what you're going through right now. The whole controversy thing. It's so unfair."
The others murmur in agreement. "We're totally on your side," another adds. "We've been supporting you online, fighting with all the haters."
The tall one grins proudly. "I wrote this whole thread defending you on Twitter and it got like fifteen thousand likes. People are with you, Karina. Real fans understand."
Something in Jimin's expression cracks, just for a second, and you see genuine gratitude flood her features. "Thank you," she says, smiling. "That means more than you know. Really. Thank you so much for supporting me."
"Is aespa going to end?" one of them asks quietly, almost afraid of the answer.
Jimin takes a breath. "I don't have clear answers right now," she admits. "Everything is really confusing and uncertain. But aespa isn't going to end. We're stronger than this."
"Good," the girl in the denim jacket says firmly. "Because true fans will be with you and the other girls until the end. No matter what. We're not going anywhere."
The conviction in her voice, the way all four of them nod in agreement, it's like watching a small army pledge their loyalty. Jimin's eyes get glassy again and she reaches out to squeeze the nearest girl's hand. "Thank you. All of you. For being here, for caring. It helps more than you know."
They eventually say their goodbyes, walking away in an animated cluster of excited whispers and phone checking. You watch them go before turning back to Jimin.
"That was nice," you say. "Seeing a little support every now and then. Reminds you it's not all terrible."
Jimin nods, still looking a bit emotional. "Yeah. It really does."
"Those are your true fans," you continue, "People who actually care about you, who want to see you well and happy. Not those other jerks who think they can control your life like you're some kind of puppet they own."
Jimin's eyebrows rise. "Oh, wow. Someone's a little sour now."
"I've got nothing left to lose at this point. Might as well say what I think. I'm done being the good guy. I'm the bad boy now."
That makes her laugh, loudly, the sound bright and clear in the quiet street. "You? A bad boy? Babe, you couldn't pull that off even if you tried. You're a little angel. All well-behaved and sweet. A total good boy."
You feel your cheeks heat up, laughing despite yourself. "I have layers, okay? I'm complex. Multifaceted."
"You have layers," she agrees, reaching up to pat your cheek affectionately. "And they're all adorable and cute."
"Alright, alright," you concede, "I can see you're not going to let me win this one."
She grins triumphantly, taking your hand again. "Never. Now come on, show me this place you were talking about before we were so wonderfully interrupted."
—
After a full day of wandering through Gapyeong's quiet streets, snapping photos and stealing moments that feel like they belong in a different, simpler world, you both finally make it back to the house. You set the plastic bag containing your dinner on the kitchen table, and both of you collapse onto the couch with synchronized groans of exhaustion and satisfaction.
"That was a great day," Jimin says, letting her head fall back against the cushions, eyes closed.
"Yeah," you agree, carefully placing your grandfather's camera on the coffee table. "We used up the whole roll."
She opens one eye to look at the camera. "All of it?"
"Every single shot. Thirty-six pictures of the best day."
"It's kind of crazy to think about, you know? My career is under threat. Everything I've built since I was a teenager is on the verge of collapsing. The entire world is probably talking about me right now, tearing me apart online. And yet..." She gestures around the quiet living room, at the two of you sprawled on this old couch in the middle of nowhere. "Everything feels so peaceful right now. Like none of that exists."
She shifts closer, cupping your face with one hand, her thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. Her eyes search yours, dark and deep and full of love. Then she leans in and kisses you, slow and soft, tasting faintly of the honey candy she'd been sucking on during the walk home. When she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours.
"Thank you," she whispers. "For this. For today, for this week, for this moment. Things don't seem so bad when I'm by your side."
You catch her hand and bring it to your lips, kissing her palm, her wrist, the delicate inside of her forearm. "Always," you murmur against her skin.
She sighs, content, then reluctantly pulls away. "I should take a shower. Get cleaned up. Then we can have dinner, maybe watch a movie together?" She stretches, her dress riding up slightly on her thighs before she tugs it back down. "Something mindless and fun. No thinking allowed."
"Sounds perfect," you say, but you don't move. An idea has been forming in the back of your mind all day, watching her laugh and pose and exist so freely in that floral dress that catches the light just right. "But first, there's something I want to do for you. To help you relax."
Her eyebrow arches, curious. "Oh?"
You slide off the couch and kneel on the floor between her legs, your hands coming to rest on her knees. She watches you with growing interest, her breath already changing rhythm. You let your palms slide slowly up her thighs, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress.
"You look so beautiful in this dress," you tell her, leaning in to press a kiss to her inner thigh, just above her knee. "Been thinking about this all day."
She makes a soft sound, her legs parting slightly. "Have you?"
"Mm-hmm." You kiss higher, your hands following the path of your mouth, gradually pushing the hem of her dress up inch by inch. Her skin is soft and warm, and you can feel the fine tremor running through her muscles as you work your way up. Another kiss, then another, trailing a slow line toward the apex of her thighs.
"Okay," she breathes, her hand coming to rest in your hair. "Don't stop."
You have no intention of stopping. Your lips continue their journey, reverent and unhurried, as your hands push her dress higher until it's bunched around her hips. She's wearing simple cotton panties, already damp, and the sight makes heat coil low in your belly. Her legs open wider for you, her head falling back against the couch as a sigh escapes her lips.
"God," she murmurs, eyes fluttering closed. "That feels good."
You hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties and slowly drag them down her thighs, over her knees, off completely. She's gorgeous like this, spread out before you, her pussy pink and glistening in the dim lamplight. You look up at her face, flushed and wanting, and can't help but smile.
"You know," you say, your breath ghosting over her skin, "the good side of this exile is that we can have sex whenever we want. No sneaking around, no worrying about who might walk in."
Jimin laughs breathlessly, starting to respond. "True, we can just… Just… Oh fuck!’
Her words dissolve into a moan as your mouth finally makes contact, your tongue dragging slowly through her folds. She tastes like perfection, and the sound she makes,high and needy, goes straight to your cock. Your hands grip her thighs, holding her open as you work your tongue against her clit, circling and teasing until her hips start to roll against your face.
"Yes," she gasps, her fingers tightening in your head. "Just like that. Don't stop, please don't stop."
And you don't. You settle into a rhythm, your tongue working against her clit in slow, deliberate circles that have her gasping and squirming on the couch. Her taste fills your senses, sweet and musky and entirely addictive. You can feel her thighs trembling on either side of your head, the muscles tensing and releasing with each stroke of your tongue. Her hand is still tangled in your hair, not quite pulling but holding you there like she's afraid you might stop.
"Fuck," she breathes, her hips rolling up to meet your mouth. "That's so good. Your tongue feels so good."
You pull back just enough to speak, your lips still brushing against her wet heat. "You taste incredible. I could do this for hours." And you mean it. There's something intoxicating about having her like this, spread open and vulnerable and completely at your mercy. You drag your tongue through her folds again, slower this time, savoring every inch of her.
Jimin whimpers, her free hand clutching at the couch cushion beside her. "You're teasing me."
"Maybe a little," you admit, grinning against her pussy. You place an open-mouthed kiss directly on her clit and she jerks, a sharp gasp escaping her. "But you like it when I tease you, don't you baby?"
"Yes," she admits breathlessly. "God, yes. But I also like it when you make me come."
"Patience," you murmur, and then you're back to work, your tongue flat and broad as you lick her from entrance to clit in one long, slow stroke. She moans, low and needy, and you do it again. And again. Building a steady rhythm that has her panting above you.
You can feel her getting wetter, her arousal coating your chin and lips. The sounds she's making are obscene, these breathy little moans and whimpers that make your cock strain painfully against your pants. You shift slightly, trying to relieve some of the pressure, but your focus stays entirely on her. On the way her body responds to every touch, every lick, every deliberate stroke of your tongue.
"Talk to me," you say between kisses to her inner thigh. "Tell me how it feels."
Jimin's head is thrown back, her neck arched beautifully, and it takes her a moment to find words. "It feels... fuck, it feels amazing. Like I'm going to lose my mind. Your mouth is so fucking perfect."
You hum against her clit in approval and she cries out, her hips bucking. "Sensitive?" you ask, even though you know the answer.
"Very," she gasps. "Everything feels so intense right now. Like every nerve is on fire."
You love that you can do this to her, reduce her to this trembling, desperate thing. Karina, the untouchable idol who commands stages and captivates millions, completely undone by your tongue. There's power in that, and tenderness too. You press a soft kiss to her clit before taking it gently between your lips and sucking.
"Oh god, oh fuck—" Her words dissolve into a moan, her fingers tightening almost painfully in your hair. "Don't stop, please don't stop."
But you do stop, pulling back to look up at her. Her face is flushed, lips parted as she pants, eyes full of arousal and a hint of frustration at the loss of contact. "Look at me," you tell her.
She does, her gaze finding yours, and the sight of you between her legs, chin wet with her arousal, makes her whimper. "You're cruel."
"I just want to see you," you say, your hands stroking soothingly up and down her thighs. "Want to watch your face while I make you feel good." You lean in again, your tongue flicking quickly over her clit. Her mouth opens on a silent gasp. "You're so beautiful like this. So fucking perfect."
"I'm a mess," she protests weakly.
"Yeah," you agree, grinning. "My mess." You dive back in with enthusiasm, alternating between broad strokes of your tongue and focused attention on her clit. You can feel her getting closer, the tension building in her body, the way her breathing becomes more erratic.
"That's it," she encourages. "Right there, fuck, right there."
You maintain the exact rhythm and pressure she needs, your hands gripping her hips to hold her steady as she starts to rock against your face. Her thighs are trembling violently now, squeezing around your head, and you know she's close. So close. You can feel it in the way her muscles are tensing, hear it in the pitch of her moans climbing higher and higher.
But then you slow down, easing off just enough to keep her on the edge without pushing her over.
"No," she whines. "Why did you… I was so close."
You pull back again, placing soft kisses along her inner thigh while she catches her breath. "I know. I want to take my time with you. We're not in a rush, remember? No one's going to interrupt us. No schedules to keep. Just you and me."
She makes a sound that's something between a laugh and a groan. "You're going to kill me."
"Never," you promise. You want to worship her, to spend hours between her thighs learning every sound she makes, every spot that makes her gasp. "Besides, you love it when I draw it out. When I make you wait for it."
"I do," she admits, her hand gentle in your hair now, stroking rather than gripping. "But I also love when you make me come so hard I can't think straight."
"We'll get there," you assure her. "I promise. But first..." You lean in and run your tongue through her folds again, gathering her wetness. "I want to enjoy this. Enjoy you."
She shivers at your words, at the sensation of your mouth on her again. "You're such a tease."
"Only because you're so fun to tease." You focus your attention on her clit again, circling it with the tip of your tongue in a pattern that has her moaning within seconds. "And because you get so wet when I take my time. Look at you, baby. You're dripping."
"That's your fault," she gasps, her hips rolling seeking more pressure.
"Mm, I'll take responsibility for that." You slide one finger through her entrance, not pushing in yet, just gathering the slickness there. "You feel so good. So soft and wet and perfect."
"Please," she breathes. "I need more."
"More of this?" You circle her clit with your tongue, firm and steady.
"Yes, fuck, yes."
"Or more of this?" You slowly slide one finger inside her, feeling her clench around you immediately.
Her back arches off the couch. "Both. Everything. I need everything."
You add a second finger, curling them to find that spot inside her that makes her see stars, while your mouth continues its relentless assault on her clit. The combination has her crying out, her hands scrambling for purchase on the couch, on your shoulders, anywhere she can reach. She's close again, you can tell from the way her walls are fluttering around your fingers, from the increasingly desperate sounds falling from her lips.
But you're not ready to let her come yet. You want to keep her here, suspended in this perfect moment of pleasure and need, for just a little longer. So you ease up again, your movements becoming gentler, more teasing. Maintaining just enough stimulation to keep her desperate but not enough to push her over the edge.
"Baby," she pleads. "Please. I'm so close."
"I know," you murmur against her skin. "I can feel it. You're squeezing my fingers so tight."
"Then let me come," she begs. "Please, I need it."
You decide it's time to stop teasing, to give her what she's been begging for. “Okay, then,” you say. Your fingers curl inside her with renewed purpose, finding that rough patch of nerves that makes her entire body tense, while your mouth latches onto her clit with focused intensity. No more pulling back, no more easing off. Just relentless, deliberate pleasure designed to take her apart completely.
"Oh fuck," Jimin gasps, her whole body going rigid. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, that's—"
Her words cut off into a strangled moan as you increase the pressure, your fingers stroking that spot inside her in firm, steady strokes while your tongue works her clit in tight circles. She's writhing on the couch now, her hips grinding against your face, chasing the orgasm that's building like a storm inside her. One of her hands flies to her breast, squeezing through the fabric of her dress, while the other stays tangled in your hair, holding you exactly where she needs you.
"Don't stop," she chants. "Don't stop, don't stop, I'm so close, I'm—"
You can feel it building, the way her walls are clenching rhythmically around your fingers, the way her thighs are shaking so hard she can barely hold them open. She's right there, balanced on that knife's edge between pleasure and release, and you're determined to push her over. You double down, your fingers pumping faster, curling harder against that spot, your mouth unrelenting on her swollen clit.
"Yes, yes, yes—" Her back arches completely off the couch, her whole body going taut as a bowstring. "I'm gonna… oh god, I'm gonna—"
That's when you adjust the angle of your fingers just slightly, pressing firmly against that special spot deep inside her, and everything changes. Her eyes fly open wide and then she's coming with a force that takes both of you by surprise. Clear fluid suddenly gushes from her, spraying across your hand, your chest, soaking the couch cushion beneath her as her entire body convulses.
"Oh my god!" she cries out high and desperate as the orgasm crashes through her. "Oh my god, oh my god—"
You keep your fingers moving, working her through it, feeling her walls clamping down so hard it's almost difficult to maintain the rhythm. More fluid pulses out with each stroke, her body completely out of her control as wave after wave of pleasure rocks through her. She's squirting, really squirting, and it's the hottest thing you've ever witnessed. Her hand is still squeezing her breast desperately, her other hand has abandoned your hair to clutch at the couch, and her face is twisted in an expression of pure ecstasy.
"That's it, baby," you encourage. "Let it all out. You're so fucking beautiful like this."
She's making these broken, sobbing sounds, her hips jerking with each pulse, and you can feel the wet heat of her release coating your hand, your forearm, dripping down onto the floor. It seems to go on forever, her body wringing every last drop of pleasure from the orgasm until finally, finally, she collapses back against the couch, trembling and gasping for air.
You carefully withdraw your fingers and she whimpers at the sensitivity, her whole body twitching. You climb up her body, capturing her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, letting her taste herself on your lips and tongue. She kisses back weakly, still trying to catch her breath, her hands coming up to frame your face.
When you pull back, she's staring at you with dazed, unfocused eyes. Then awareness starts to creep back in, and her gaze drifts down to survey the damage. Her hand slowly moves to cover her mouth as the full scope of what just happened registers.
"Oh my god," she says, voice muffled behind her hand. "Oh my god, I just—" She looks at the couch cushion beneath her, which is absolutely soaked through, dark with wetness. Then at your shirt, which is splattered and damp. Then at the floor, where there are visible puddles. "I squirted everywhere. I squirted all over your cousin's couch!"
You fall down beside her, careful to avoid the wet spots, and you start laughing, eventually she does too, these breathless giggles that shake both your bodies.
"Holy shit," you manage between laughs. "That was so hot but also—"
"Your cousin's couch!" she repeats, dissolving into another fit of giggles. "How are we going to explain this?"
"I mean, we could just... not tell him?" you suggest, which makes her laugh even harder.
"There's a literal puddle on the floor!" She gestures wildly. "Multiple puddles! It looks like we had a water fight in here!"
You're both laughing so hard your sides hurt, the post-orgasm endorphins mixing with the ridiculousness of the situation. Jimin rolls toward you, burying her face in your shoulder, her body still shaking with laughter.
"I can't believe that just happened," she mumbles against your shirt. "I've never... I didn't know I could do that."
"I didn't know you could either," you admit, running your hand through her hair. "But fuck, that was the hottest thing I've ever seen."
She lifts her head to look at you, her face still flushed, hair a complete mess, and she's grinning despite her embarrassment. "Yeah?"
"Absolutely. Ten out of ten, would make you squirt all over my cousin's furniture again."
That sets her off into another round of giggles. "Stop! We need to figure out how to clean this before it stains!" But she makes no move to get up, just lies there against you, still catching her breath.
"Okay, okay," you say, trying to be serious but failing as another laugh escapes. "We need a plan. First, we find towels. Lots of towels. Then maybe some kind of upholstery cleaner? Do we have that?"
"I have no idea what's under the sink," Jimin says. "But we better find something because I am not explaining this to your cousin."
"'Hey, thanks for letting us stay, by the way your couch had a really good time,'" you say in a mock-serious tone, and she smacks your chest, laughing.
"You're terrible!"
"You love me.
"I do," she agrees, her laughter finally subsiding into soft giggles. "Even though you just ruined your cousin's couch with your magical fingers."
"Excuse me, we ruined the couch. Team effort."
She snorts, then pushes herself up to sitting, putting her panties back in place as surveying the damage with a more critical eye. "Okay. Towels first. Then we figure out the cleaning situation. Then maybe we just… keep this a secret until the end of our lives?"
"Sounds like a good plan," you agree, sitting up beside her.
She looks at you, at the wet patch on your shirt, at the absolute mess surrounding you both, and shakes her head with a smile. "This week just keeps getting weirder."
"Weird good or weird bad?"
"Weird perfect," she says, leaning in to kiss you softly. "Even with the property damage.”
—
The week unfolds like a carefully constructed dream, each day following a gentle rhythm that feels almost meditative in its simplicity. What you'd hoped would happen is actually working: the routine, the distraction, the deliberate choice to exist in this small bubble removed from the chaos of Seoul and the internet and the career crisis hanging over both your heads like a sword. Every morning starts the same way: you and Jimin stumbling out of bed, still tangled in each other, making your way to the backyard with the watering can. It's become a ritual, this quiet act of tending to your cousin's plants while the morning sun filters through the persimmon tree and birds chirp in the distance. Jimin always insists on doing most of the watering herself, saying it's therapeutic, and you're content to watch her move through the garden in whatever oversized t-shirt she stole from your suitcase the night before.
Breakfast is simple, usually whatever you can scrounge from the local market; fresh eggs, rice, kimchi that the elderly woman next door makes and keeps bringing over in endless supply. Then you're out the door, your grandfather's camera slung around your neck, ready to explore another corner of Gapyeong. You've been showing Jimin all the places you frequented as a child during those weekend visits: the bridge where you used to catch tadpoles, the hiking trail that leads to a stunning overlook of the valley, the tiny bookstore run by an old man who still remembers you and your fascination with comic books. Each location comes with stories, memories you'd almost forgotten until you're standing there with her, pointing out where you fell and scraped your knee or where your grandfather taught you to skip stones across the river.
And of course, there are the photographs. So many photographs. You went through all four rolls of film by Thursday afternoon, clicking away at everything: Jimin laughing at a street market, the way sunset hits the mountains, her profile as she examines pottery in a shop window, selfies where you're both grinning like idiots, candid shots of her just existing in the world. Yesterday you took everything to a specialized photography shop an hour away, the kind of place that still develops analog film with care. The owner looked through your order and whistled low. "That's a lot of memories," he said, and you agreed. He told you it would take two weeks and a half, maybe three depending on the backlog, and you left the shop feeling like you'd entrusted something precious to a stranger.
The surprising part is how little recognition Jimin has gotten while walking around. You'd expected it to be constant, overwhelming, but Gapyeong isn't Seoul. People here move slower, pay less attention to celebrity gossip. Sure, she's been spotted a few times (there was the group of girls that first day, and a couple other instances where fans approached shyly asking for photos), but everyone has been kind. Supportive, even. Telling her to stay strong, that they're on her side. It's allowed her to move through the world without the suffocating weight of a mask and hat obscuring her face, and you can see what that freedom does to her. The way her shoulders relax, the way she smiles more easily.
During this entire period, you've made a silent pact not to talk about the future. No discussions about what SM might decide, what the public thinks, whether aespa will survive this. Just the present. Just the two of you in this house, in this city, in these moments. The TV stays off except for when you watch movies at night (stupid comedies and action films that require zero emotional investment). No news. No updates. Just existing.
And it's working. Jimin looks lighter than you've seen her in weeks, maybe months. There's color in her cheeks, genuine laughter that reaches her eyes, a looseness to her movements that wasn't there before. She's sleeping better too, no longer waking up in the middle of the night with anxiety attacks or reaching for her phone with shaking hands. She's just... Jimin. Your Jimin. Not Karina the idol, not the center of a scandal, just a woman spending time with someone she loves.
Friday arrives and you barely notice until you're marking off another day on the mental calendar you've been keeping. A week ago you were sitting in Kim Youngmin's office being presented with impossible options. Now you're here, and it feels like a lifetime has passed.
But of course, you can't completely disconnect. You're not built that way, and neither is the situation. Someone needs to stay alert, to monitor what's happening in the world you've temporarily left behind. You need to know what Jimin’s and aespa’s reputations are like after SM’s official statement confirming your relationship. It’s been a few days since it was published; enough time to get a sense of the situation. So this afternoon, when Jimin mentions she's going next door to help Mrs. Kim with a cake recipe, you see an opportunity.
"I'll hold down the fort here," you tell her, kissing her forehead.
"Don't get into trouble," she warns playfully, already halfway out the door with an apron borrowed from the kitchen.
Once she's gone and the house settles into silence, you retrieve your MacBook from where it's been buried at the bottom of your suitcase all week. You make yourself a cup of coffee; strong and black, because you need the caffeine hit for what you're about to subject yourself to, and settle at the kitchen table. The laptop hums to life, the screen glowing bright in the afternoon dimness, and you take a fortifying sip before opening a browser.
The first thing you check is Twitter, because that's always where things explode first. Your timeline is a mess of Korean and English, fan accounts and news aggregators and opinion pieces. Things are still unstable, the discourse as vicious as you expected, but as you scroll deeper, you start to notice shifts. Cracks in the wall of hate.
Several idols have been speaking out. Not overtly (that would be career suicide in an industry built on unspoken rules), but discreetly. Taeyeon posted a cryptic Instagram story with lyrics about living authentically. Wheein liked a tweet defending Jimin's right to date. Moonbyul shared an article about the toxicity of parasocial relationships. Small acts of rebellion from people who understand the cost of this kind of scandal because they've navigated the same brutal system.
And then there's Yuna, who apparently missed the memo about subtlety entirely. Her Instagram story from fifteen hours ago is still up, a screenshot of an article about the controversy with her own text overlaid: "Let people live their lives. Love is love. 💕" It's been shared thousands of times, dissected and praised and criticized in equal measure. You have to laugh. Of course she'd be the least discreet.
There's also a text from her sitting in your messages, sent yesterday: "How are you guys holding up? Saw the news. This is bullshit. Rooting for you both 🙏"
It's funny. The girl who almost derailed your relationship through her flirting, who served as the catalyst for Jimin's jealousy and your first big fight, is now one of your most vocal supporters. She's really something else.
You shift your attention to the fan discourse, which is where the real battle is being waged. Korean netizens are predictably divided: a vocal segment screaming betrayal and demanding Jimin leave aespa, another contingent defending her right to happiness, most people somewhere in the muddled middle. But Western fans, the international audience that's become increasingly important to K-pop's global expansion, are overwhelmingly on Jimin's side. Tweets with tens of thousands of likes arguing that idols are human beings, that the industry's dating bans are archaic and cruel, that fans who can't support their favorites' happiness were never real fans to begin with.
"This is so fucked up. Karina deserves to be happy. Leave her alone." - 27K likes.
"If you're sending hate to Karina for dating, you're not a MY, you're just a toxic person." - 33K likes.
"The idol industry needs to change. This is 2025, not 1995. Let people LIVE." - 19K likes.
There's a coordinated hashtag campaign - #StandWithKarina - that's been trending globally for three days straight. Fan projects raising money for billboards in support. Video compilations of aespa's achievements set to emotional music with captions about unconditional love. It's not universal support, not even close, but it's something. Maybe enough of something to tip the scales.
You're so absorbed in scrolling, in cataloging every piece of evidence that might indicate this isn't a complete catastrophe, that you don't hear the door open until Jimin's voice breaks through your concentration.
"I'm back!" she announces, and you nearly jump out of your skin. "The cake turned out amazing, look."
She sets down a plate with several generous slices of what appears to be a honey castella cake, golden and fluffy and still slightly warm. Then her eyes land on the MacBook open in front of you.
"Why are you using the MacBook?" She asks, not in an accusatory way, just curiosity. "You weren't even supposed to bring it."
"I was just looking at a few things," you say, which is both true and a massive understatement. "Research. Mindless scrolling. You know how it is… chronically online and all that."
"Hmm." She eyes you skeptically, then her gaze drops to your mug. "Is that coffee?"
"Tea," you lie smoothly, taking a deliberate sip.
She leans closer, sniffing. "It smells like coffee."
You make a show of sniffing the cup yourself, your expression perfectly confused. "Really? I didn't even notice. Weird."
Jimin just laughs before looking at you like you're a kid eating candy before dinner. "I'm never going to be able to separate you from caffeine, am I? It's like a dependency. A medical condition."
"I can stop whenever I want," you protest.
"Sure you can, baby." She pulls out the chair next to you and sits down, stealing your mug for a sip and making a face when it's definitely coffee and not tea. "The week's almost over."
"Yeah," you say. "It is."
"What did you think?" She's looking at you now, studying your face. "Of all this. Was it boring? Was the countryside exile everything you hoped it would be?"
"Boring? No. It was..." You search for the right word. "Necessary. Good. Really good."
"It's been a while since I felt so..." She pauses, considering. "Normal. Like I was just a person doing person things. Walking around, taking pictures, making friends with the neighbor lady who keeps feeding us. No performances, no cameras, no expectations. Just existing." She's quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing patterns on the table. "If I lost my career, I think having a normal life wouldn't be so bad. I could handle it. I'd have you anyway."
"Don't be pessimistic," you say automatically.
"I'm being realistic,” she counters gently. "You know there's a chance. A big chance. We both know that."
You can't argue with that. The possibility has been sitting in the back of your mind all week, a shadow you've been deliberately ignoring. "SM would never give up aespa," you say, trying for confidence. "It's one of their most profitable groups at the moment. The numbers don't lie."
She raises an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "So you just see my group as a product to be marketed? Pure capitalism?"
"Not me. The company. I think what you and the girls do is incredible, you know that. But from SM's perspective, yeah, you're an investment. A successful one."
"Okay, so you said SM would never give up on aespa." She's still smiling but there's something more bitter underneath now. "But... would they give up on me? Specifically me?"
It's a delicate question, you find yourself unable to immediately answer because the truth is yes, it's absolutely a possibility. Companies have done it before: sacrificed one member to save a group, calculated that the PR hit of removing someone is less damaging than keeping them. They're trying to save her image now, but if the metrics don't improve, if the sponsor deals keep falling through, if the comeback underperforms...
"They'd be crazy to do that," you finally say. "It would be the biggest mistake that company ever made."
"But they could," she presses.
"They could," you admit. "But they won't. You're too valuable. Too talented. Too—"
Her phone starts ringing, cutting you off. She glances at the screen and her whole face lights up. "It's the girls!" She accepts the video call and immediately three faces fill the screen; Giselle, Winter, and Ningning all crammed together on what looks like a couch in someone's apartment.
"Jimin!" they chorus in unison.
"Hi!" Jimin stands up, moving away from the table toward the living room for better light. "Oh my god, I miss you guys so much!"
"We miss you too," Winter says. "How's the countryside? Are you surviving without Instagram?"
"Barely," Jimin laughs. "But actually it's been amazing. We've been taking all these photos - analog, with an actual film camera - and we're making this whole album of memories. And I made friends with the neighbor, this sweet old lady who's been teaching me to bake. And we went hiking and—"
She's off, words tumbling out in an excited rush as she gives them a virtual tour of the house, showing them the backyard garden and the traditional architecture and the view from the bedroom window. You can hear them oohing and ahhing, asking questions, sharing their own updates about what's been happening in Seoul. Someone's been teaching Ningning guitar. Giselle booked a solo magazine shoot. Winter's been stress-baking and has made approximately fifteen batches of cookies in the past week.
Their conversation becomes background noise as your attention drifts back to the MacBook screen, to the tabs still open showing Twitter and news articles and fan forums. The support is there, tangible and growing, but so is the hate. The calls for Jimin to leave the group, to apologize, to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of her career. The industry think pieces about whether female idols can survive dating scandals in 2025. The endless speculation about SM's next move.
You think about what Jimin said. About them potentially giving her up. And you realize with creeping dread that she's not wrong to worry. The company will do whatever protects their bottom line, their other investments, their reputation. If keeping Jimin becomes more costly than letting her go, the choice becomes obvious from their perspective.
Behind you, Jimin's laugh rings out as Ningning apparently makes a face at the camera. They're talking about the tour now, whether it'll still happen, and you can hear the hope and fear mingled in their voices. These four women who've become sisters through shared dreams and brutal training and the unforgiving spotlight of fame, trying to hold onto something that's threatening to slip through their fingers.
You close the MacBook quietly. Whatever happens, you'll face it together. That's the only certainty you have right now.
—
You push through the apartment door with your shoulder, arms full of packages and your work bag sliding down toward your elbow. It's been another long day, your third since returning from Gapyeong, and the strange new reality of being back in Seoul is still settling into your body. The only sound inside the apartment is the low hum of the TV playing some drama Jimin's only half-watching. She's sprawled on the couch in one of your hoodies and shorts, hair piled messily on top of her head, and the sight of her makes the tension in your shoulders ease just a little.
"Hey," you say, dropping your bag and crossing to the couch. You lean down and kiss her, soft and lingering, tasting the cherry chapstick she's been obsessively applying all week.
She smiles against your lips before pulling back. "How was work?"
"It was okay." You straighten up, rolling your neck to work out the kinks. "Still weird being the main target of office gossip. Like, I can feel people staring and whispering whenever I walk past. But honestly? It's good to be back. Feels productive, you know? Like I'm doing something instead of just waiting."
"That's good," she says, and you can hear the genuine happiness in her voice even as something else flickers across her face (something that looks uncomfortably like envy or longing).
The fact that you're still working with aespa at all is nothing short of miraculous. Your direct superior, Ms. Park, the woman who's managed the team for three years and has always been fair and professional, went to bat for you hard. Apparently she gave this impassioned speech to the executives about your competency, your work ethic, how you've never once let personal matters interfere with your professional responsibilities. She convinced them that firing you would be a mistake, that you're too valuable an asset to lose over something that had nothing to do with your actual job performance. So instead of termination, you got reassigned within the same sphere: handling individual activities for Ningning, Giselle, and Winter. Nothing related to aespa as a group for now, nothing that would put you in direct proximity to Jimin during work hours, but still within the ecosystem you know and understand.
You know Jimin is happy for you. She told you as much when you came home on that first day, throwing her arms around you and saying how proud she was, how relieved. But you can also see the frustration eating at her, the way her jaw tightens when she talks about being stuck in this limbo. It's been fifteen days since SM's official statement, and since then, nothing. Radio silence from the company. No updates about comeback schedules, no clarity on the international tour, no word on when or if aespa's activities will resume. They're gauging reactions, running analytics, monitoring social media sentiment across different markets to determine their next move. And Jimin is stuck on the sidelines, watching her career hang in the balance while everyone else moves forward.
"Oh!" You remember suddenly, adjusting the package tucked under your arm. "These came today."
Her eyes immediately lock onto the parcel, curiosity sparking. "What is it?"
"The photos. From Gapyeong. They finally finished developing them."
The transformation is instantaneous. Jimin sits bolt upright, the lethargy that's been clinging to her all week evaporating. "Are you serious? They're here? The actual photos?"
"All of them." You grin at her reaction. "They sent it to me by mail. I just picked it up as soon as I got to the building.”
You set the package on the coffee table and head to the bedroom, returning with the leather-bound photo album you've been keeping on the nightstand. When you come back, Jimin has already migrated from the couch to the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of the coffee table like a kid on Christmas morning. You join her, settling down beside her as you carefully begin unwrapping the package. The shop wrapped everything in brown paper and twine and you have to cut through several layers before you finally reach the photos themselves.
They're organized in four separate envelopes, one for each roll of film, and the weight of them in your hands feels significant. Substantial. These aren't digital files that can be deleted or lost to a corrupted hard drive. These are physical objects, tangible proof that those days happened.
"It's like opening Pokémon cards," Jimin says breathlessly, watching you slide the first envelope open.
You pause, considering. "That's not a very accurate comparison, babe.”
"You know what I mean! The anticipation. Not knowing what you're going to get."
"Except we do know. We took these photos."
"But we don't know how they turned out! If they're blurry or perfectly clear or if we accidentally captured something magical. That's the whole point of analog." She reaches for the envelope eagerly. "Come on, let me see."
You hand it over and she pulls out the stack of photos with reverent care. The first one makes her gasp: it's from that very first day, in the backyard, when you caught her watering the plants. The late afternoon light is golden and perfect, and she's laughing at something, her head thrown back, completely unguarded. The floral dress, the messy hair, the smudge of dirt on her cheek. It's beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with professional styling or perfect angles.
"Oh my god," she whispers. "Look at this. I look so... happy."
"You were happy."
She stares at the photo for another moment before carefully setting it aside and moving to the next one. This one is the selfie you took together on the bridge, except she turned at the last second to kiss your cheek. The framing is slightly off, your thumb visible in the corner, but your expression (surprised and delighted) makes it perfect. Imperfect in the best way.
"I love this one," she says, tracing the edge with her finger. "This is definitely going in the album."
You open the photo album to the first page, blank and waiting. Together, you place the photo carefully in the corner slot, and just like that, the project becomes real. No longer an abstract idea but something you're building together, memory by memory.
The next envelope yields photos from the market; Jimin examining pottery with intense concentration, you holding up a ridiculous hat that neither of you ended up buying, candid shots of elderly vendors and colorful produce displays. Each one brings back the moment in vivid detail, the smell of fresh fish and roasted chestnuts, the sound of vendors calling out their prices, the way Jimin's hand felt in yours as you navigated the crowded aisles.
"I remember this," Jimin says, holding up a photo of herself biting into a hotteok, her eyes closed in bliss, sugar dusted across her lips. "That was the best thing I'd eaten in months. I wanted to go back and buy ten more."
"Why didn't we?"
"Because you said I'd get a stomach ache."
"I was being responsible."
"You were being a killjoy." But she's smiling as she says it, already placing the photo in the album.
The third envelope contains photos from the hike you took to the overlook. The trail winding through the forest, Jimin posed dramatically on a large boulder, the sweeping vista of the valley below with mountains layered in the distance like watercolor washes. There's one of you that she insisted on taking, sitting on a fallen log with your elbows on your knees, looking off to the side at something she'd pointed out. You barely remember the moment, but in the photo you look contemplative, peaceful.
"You're very photogenic when you're not trying," Jimin observes, studying the image. "When you're just existing."
"Thanks, I think?"
"It's a compliment. You're real. Not posed or manufactured. Just you." She looks at you then. "That's what I fell in love with, you know. How real you are. How you never pretend to be anything other than exactly who you are."
You just lean over and kiss her temple, letting the gesture say what words can't.
The fourth envelope is the most eclectic; photos from various days all mixed together. Jimin in the bookstore, reading the back of a novel. You at the restaurant table, mid-laugh at something she said. The sunset over the river, all oranges and purples and pinks. Her feet next to yours on the wooden porch of the house. A stray cat you befriended one afternoon. Jimin asleep on the couch with a book on her chest. Each image is a fragment of those days, and together they form a complete picture of what you shared.
You work in silence for a while, sorting through the photos and deciding which ones go where. Some are immediate favorites that you both agree on instantly. Others require debate (Jimin wants to include a blurry photo of you making a ridiculous face, and you veto it until she promises to include an equally unflattering one of herself). Compromise is reached.
As you place a photo of the two of you at sunset, silhouetted against the sky with your arms around each other, Jimin's eyes start to glisten. She blinks rapidly, trying to hold it back, but a single tear escapes and trails down her cheek.
"Hey," you say softly, wiping it away with your thumb. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. I'm just... that week was so perfect. Looking at these, reliving it all, I just wish we could go back. Stay there forever."
"Me too."
"Everything was so simple there. No pressure, no expectations, no one judging us. Just you and me and all the time in the world." She picks up another photo, this one of her laughing at something, completely unaware of the camera. "I forgot what it felt like to just be Jimin. Not Karina, not an idol, just... me."
You set down the photo you were holding and turn to face her fully, taking both her hands in yours. "You're always just Jimin to me. Always have been, always will be. The rest is just what you do, not who you are."
She nods, squeezing your hands. "I know. And that's why this—" she gestures to the album, to the scattered photos, to the two of you sitting on the floor surrounded by memories, "—matters so much. You see me. The real me. And you're documenting it, preserving it. When I'm eighty years old and can barely remember my own name, I'll have this album. I'll look at these pictures and remember that once upon a time, when my whole world was falling apart, someone loved me enough to capture what it looked like when I was whole."
Now you're the one getting emotional, your throat tight with feelings too big for words. You pull her into your arms and she comes willingly, burying her face in your shoulder. Her body shakes slightly with suppressed sobs, and you just hold her, one hand stroking her back, the other cradling her head.
"We're going to be okay," you murmur into her hair. "Whatever happens with SM, with aespa, with all of it. We're going to be okay because we have this. These memories, these moments. They can't take that away from us."
She nods against your shoulder, her arms tightening around you. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are red but she's smiling. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get all emotional."
"Don't apologize. This is emotional. It's supposed to be."
She wipes her face and picks up the album, flipping through what you've completed so far. About a third of the pages are filled now, photos carefully arranged and placed. "We should add captions. Write little notes about what we were doing or what we were thinking."
"That's a good idea."
She finds a pen and starts writing in small, neat handwriting next to one of the photos. "Our first day. You made me laugh so hard I snorted." She looks up at you. "I did snort. You remember?"
"I remember. It was adorable."
"It was embarrassing."
"Adorably embarrassing."
You continue working, adding more photos and writing captions. Some are simple: dates and locations. Others are more elaborate like inside jokes and confessions and things you want your future selves to remember. Jimin's handwriting mingles with yours on the pages, creating something that belongs to both of you equally.
By the time you're done, it's past midnight and you've made significant progress. The album isn't complete yet (you still have dozens of photos to sort through and place) but it's taken shape. It exists. This tangible record of a week that saved you both in different ways.
Jimin yawns, stretching her arms above her head. "We should sleep."
"Probably."
Then the sudden trill of Jimin's phone cuts through the apartment, you both freeze, looking at each other with matching expressions of confusion. It's almost one in the morning - who the hell would be calling at this hour? Jimin reaches for her phone on the coffee table, and when she sees the caller ID, her eyebrows shoot up.
"It's from SM," she murmurs.
Late night calls from the company are never good news. At least, they haven't been lately. You watch as she accepts the call, bringing the phone to her ear.
"Hello? Yes, this is Jimin." Her face is carefully neutral, impossible to read. "Yes. Okay. I understand." A pause, and then something shifts in her expression; her eyes widen slightly, her lips part. "Really? Are you sure? When?" Another pause. "Okay. Yes, I'll be there. Thank you. Thank you so much."
She ends the call and just stares at the phone for a moment, like she's not entirely sure what just happened. You're practically vibrating with the need to know what that was about, but you force yourself to wait, to let her process whatever she just heard.
Finally, she looks up at you, and there are tears in her eyes. But this time, they're not sad tears.
"That was SM," she says. "A last-minute meeting just ended. aespa is resuming activities. The international tour is officially on."
For a second, you can't quite comprehend what she's saying. The words don't make sense, or maybe your brain is refusing to accept them because the alternative - the fear and uncertainty and worst-case scenarios - has been your default setting for so long that hope feels dangerous.
"Wait, what?"
"The tour!" She's suddenly on her feet, the photo album tumbling off her lap forgotten. "We're doing it! They said the Western markets responded positively enough that they're moving forward. The shows are confirmed. We're back!"
Then she's throwing herself into your arms with such force that you nearly topple backward. She's laughing and crying at the same time, her whole body shaking as she clings to you. You wrap your arms around her, holding her tight, and feel something that's been coiled tense in your chest for weeks finally start to unwind.
"You did it," you say into her hair. "You fucking did it."
"We did it," she corrects, pulling back to look at you. Her face is a mess: tears streaming, nose running, smile so wide it must hurt, and she's never looked more beautiful. "We survived. Together."
"Jesus. It really feels like it was all just a bad dream, doesn't it? Like none of it actually happened."
"Except it did happen," she says, wiping at her face. "But we made it through. And now—" Her phone starts buzzing repeatedly, notification after notification lighting up the screen. She grabs it and laughs. "It's the girls. Winter, Giselle, Ning. They got the news too. Look at this group chat."
She shows you the screen and it's complete chaos. All caps messages, strings of emojis, voice notes of screaming. The kind of unbridled joy that can only come from people who thought they'd lost everything and just got it back.
"They want me at SM tomorrow morning to discuss logistics and scheduling," Jimin says, scrolling through her messages. "Oh god, there's so much to do. Rehearsals, promotional schedules, wardrobe fittings—" She's spiraling into work mode, her brain already shifting gears, and you can see both the excitement and the exhaustion that comes with it.
"Hey," you say, touching her arm gently. "One thing at a time. Tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow, you conquer the world."
She nods, taking a deep breath. "You're right. One thing at a time." She looks at the photo album on the floor, at the scattered pictures still waiting to be placed. "We still need to finish this."
"We will. We have time now."
—
The next day, you're on your coffee break (no pretense that it's tea this time) standing in the small break room on the third floor. The view overlooks a busy intersection, people and cars flowing past in their endless urban dance. You're thinking about last night, about the look on Jimin's face when she got the news, when a hand claps down hard on your shoulder, making you jump and nearly spill your coffee.
"Yo!" Jae grins at you, his energy way too high for 11 AM. "I heard aespa is back, man. Congratulations!"
"Yeah," you say, unable to suppress your own smile. "The nightmare is over. Or at least, part of it."
"Part of it? Dude, you're literally the luckiest guy in the world." He leans against the counter. "You're dating an idol. Not just any idol by the way; It's Karina! Like, she's objectively one of the most beautiful women on the planet. I mean, I'm more of a Yuna guy myself, but still. You've got serious bragging rights."
"I don't know about being the luckiest," you say dryly. "My life almost ended because of this relationship. The stress alone probably took years off my lifespan."
Jae waves this off. "You're being dramatic."
"I received death threats. Actual death threats. People telling me they'd find me and—"
"Okay, okay," he interrupts, wincing. "That's actually pretty fucked up. I'll give you that. But now it's all good, right? The company backed you, the tour is happening, everything worked out."
"It's far from 'all good,'" you correct him. "It's just better than it was. There are still people who hate my existence. Still sponsors who dropped aespa because of me. Still this cloud hanging over everything. And they still haven't found the bastard who actually caused all this. But yeah, it's better than before."
"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're okay. Both of you. But I gotta say, I'm kind of sad you didn't tell me about the relationship. I thought we were friends. That you trusted me."
"I do trust you, man. I really do. It's just… it was all still so new and uncertain. We were figuring things out ourselves. And with the secrecy requirements from the company… I hope you understand. It wasn't personal."
"Yeah, I get it." He seems to accept this, his usual grin returning. "But seriously, what was the deal with Yuna? Because I could've sworn something was going on there. The way she was looking at you, I was convinced you two had something."
"In her head, we definitely did," you say, laughing despite yourself. "Reality didn't quite match up with her intentions."
"Jesus Christ." Jae runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely frustrated. "I can't believe two idols were hitting on you. Two! You're like a fucking protagonist in some fanfic super well written. How does that even happen?"
"Can we please change the subject?" you plead. "Are you getting the new Pokémon game when it—"
Movement in your peripheral vision makes you stop mid-sentence. Through the break room's glass door, you can see Jimin in the hallway, and she's making eye contact with you. She gestures subtly with her head, a clear signal that she wants to talk. Your heart starts beating a little faster, the way it always does when you see her unexpectedly.
"Sorry, I gotta go," you say to Jae, already moving toward the door. "We'll talk later, yeah?"
"Yeah, yeah, go to your superstar girlfriend," he teases, but he's smiling.
You slip out into the hallway and walk toward where Jimin is standing near a quiet alcove by the emergency stairwell. She's dressed professionally (black slacks and a cream blouse, her hair pulled back in a ponytail) and she looks every bit the successful idol ready to reclaim her career. But when you get close, you can see the slight nervousness in her eyes, the way she's worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
"Hey," you say quietly, glancing around. "Is it safe for us to be seen together here? I thought the whole point was keeping distance at work."
She shrugs, and there's something defiant in the gesture. "We're not doing anything wrong. And besides, everyone already knows now. The statement went out, the world didn't end. Fuck it."
You can't help but smile at that. "Okay then. How did things go with the meeting?"
"Good. Really good, actually." She's practically bouncing on her toes. "The tour is definitely happening. All fourteen shows over thirty days. They're finalizing the setlist today and rehearsals start next week. And they said I can get back on social media. Carefully, they emphasized carefully. But I can post again. Interact with fans. Be visible."
"That's amazing."
"They also said we should continue to not draw attention to ourselves," she continues. "No public dates, no paparazzi photos, keep things low-key for a while until everything fully settles."
"That's on you," you joke. "I've already exceeded my attention quota for my entire life. I'm good staying invisible."
She laughs, but then her expression turns more serious. "We haven't really talked about the tour yet. About what it means."
You lean against the wall, crossing your arms. "I've been avoiding thinking about it, honestly. But there's not much to discuss, is there? It's your job. It's what you've been working toward. I'll be here, cheering you on from Seoul."
"I wish you could come with us," she says quietly. "I know that's selfish, but I do. Having you there would make everything easier."
"It'll be better this way," you assure her, even though the thought of being apart for a month makes you actively sad. "You need to focus on the performances, on reconnecting with your fans, on being Karina. You don't need me there being a distraction or causing problems."
"You're never a problem."
"Fourteen shows in thirty days," you continue, "that's brutal. Promise me you'll take care of yourself? Eat properly, sleep when you can, don't push yourself too hard."
"I'll be fine," she says with more confidence than the situation probably warrants. "I've got redoubled energy now that the worst is over. I can handle anything."
From somewhere down the hall, a voice calls out. "Jimin! They need you in Studio B!"
It's one of the managers, a woman in her forties with a tablet and the perpetually harried expression of someone managing too many moving pieces.
"Coming!" Jimin calls back. She turns to you, and for a moment you see her hand twitch like she's about to reach for you, to pull you in for a kiss. But you're in a public hallway, in the company building, surrounded by potential witnesses and cameras. So instead she just steps a tiny bit closer, close enough that you can smell her perfume, and whispers low enough that only you can hear.
"I love you."
Three words, soft as a breath, yet they hit you like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard them. You want to kiss her senseless right here in this corporate hallway, consequences be damned, but you settle for holding her gaze and letting her see everything you feel reflected in your eyes.
"I love you too, babe,” you say, just for her to hear. “Later. At the apartment."
"Special dinner?" she asks, a smile tugging at her lips.
"The most special. I'll even attempt cooking something that isn't instant ramen."
"Now I'm really excited." She's backing away now, still looking at you, and there's this lightness to her that hasn't been there in weeks. "See you tonight."
"See you tonight."
You watch her walk away, watch her rejoin the manager and disappear into the maze of hallways and studios that make up SM Entertainment. And you think about how close you came to losing this; losing her, losing the future you're building together, losing everything that matters. The universe gave you a second chance, somehow, against all odds.
You're not going to waste it.
—
You finish plating the spaghetti at the exact right moment, al dente pasta twirled into perfect nests, homemade marinara sauce with fresh basil on top, parmesan shaved over everything. The kitchen smells incredible, garlic and tomato and herbs filling the small apartment. You step back to admire your work, feeling stupidly proud of yourself for pulling off something more ambitious than your usual repertoire of instant ramen and fried rice.
It reminds you of that first real date with Jimin, back when everything was new and terrifying and exciting. She'd invited you to her apartment and cooked for you and you'd felt so cared for, so seen. Now it's your turn to return that gesture, to show her through actions what words sometimes fail to capture.
The doorbell rings. You wipe your hands on a kitchen towel and head to the door, and when you open it, wow. Jimin stands there looking absolutely devastating in a black wrap dress that hugs every curve, the neckline just low enough to be suggestive without being obvious. The fabric is some kind of silky material that catches the hallway light. Her hair is down in soft waves, makeup subtle but expertly done, and she's wearing strappy heels that make her legs. Sexy but discreet.
"Hi," she says, and her smile is warm and immediate.
You pull her in for a kiss, one hand on her waist, feeling the silk slide under your palm. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and possibility. "Hi yourself. You look incredible."
"Thank you." She steps inside, her heels clicking on the hardwood, and immediately her nose lifts as she takes in the smell of dinner. "Oh my god, what is that? It smells amazing."
"Spaghetti from scratch," you say proudly, leading her toward the kitchen. "Well, mostly from scratch. I didn't make the pasta itself, but the sauce is all me. And there's garlic bread and salad and—"
"You really went all out," she says, looking genuinely touched as she surveys the table you set, complete with candles and actual cloth napkins you had to go buy specifically for this occasion.
"You deserve it." You move to the counter where you've set up a modest bar - wine, beer, some juice. "What would you like to drink? I've got red wine, white wine, that beer you like, or—"
You don't get to finish the sentence because suddenly there are hands wrapping around your waist from behind, Jimin's body pressing against your back. Her lips find your neck, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your breath catch for a moment.
"I think we can skip the drinks for now," she murmurs against your skin, her breath warm.
You turn in her arms, finding her eyes shining with intent, and capture her mouth in a deeper kiss. "Someone seems hungry," you manage between kisses.
"Mmm, yes." Her hands are already roaming, sliding under your shirt to find bare skin. "But hungry for something else."
Her palm presses against the front of your jeans, feeling you already half-hard just from that look in her eyes. You groan into her mouth, your hips involuntarily pushing forward into her touch.
"What about dinner?" you ask, even though you already know the answer, already know you'd abandon a five-course meal if she asked. "I worked really hard on it."
"Dinner can wait," she says firmly, taking your hand and pulling you toward the bedroom. "I have other priorities right now."
You let her lead you, pausing only to blow out the candles so the apartment doesn't burn down while you're otherwise occupied. The bedroom is dim, just the ambient light from the city filtering through the curtains, and it paints everything in shades of blue and gold. You're both kissing again, hands grabbing and pulling, that desperate energy of two people who've been apart all day and need to reconnect in the most fundamental way.
When you finally separate to breathe, you sit on the edge of the bed, taking off your shoes and you can't help but laugh. "If I knew we were going to take our clothes off this fast, I wouldn't have bothered dressing up so much."
Jimin stands in front of you, and the look she gives you is pure heat. "I'm glad you did. Makes it more fun to undress you." She reaches for the tie of her wrap dress, but pauses. "Though I have to admit, I'm kind of sorry to take this off. It cost a fortune."
"It's beautiful," you agree, already working on your belt. "You're beautiful."
She holds your gaze as her hands move to the straps at her shoulders. Then, in one smooth motion, she pulls both straps down simultaneously. The dress slides down her body like water, pooling at her feet in a puddle of black silk, and underneath—
"Fuck," you breathe.
She's wearing red lingerie, and not just any lingerie. A matching set in deep crimson lace that looks like it was designed specifically to destroy you. The bra pushes her breasts up and the panties are this barely-there scrap of lace that somehow manages to be more provocative than complete nudity. The color against her skin is obscene, beautiful, absolutely perfect.
"Changed your mind about dinner?"
"Changed my mind about a lot of things." You're shedding your pants now, desperate to have less fabric between you. "Mainly about how much I need you right now."
She climbs onto the bed, straddling your lap in just that red lace, and the weight of her is perfect. Her hands frame your face as she kisses you deeply, thoroughly, her hips already starting to move in slow rolls against you. You can feel the heat of her even through the remaining layers of clothing, and it's driving you insane.
The feeling of being in your own bed again, in your own space, is almost overwhelming. At your cousin's house, everything had this edge of wrongness to it; the unfamiliar mattress, the knowledge that you were in someone else's home, and oh god, that incident with the couch that you've been trying not to think about. But here, this is your territory. Your bed, your rules, and Jimin spread out above you like the best kind of gift.
Your hands find her ass, squeezing the firm flesh through the lace, and she makes this breathy sound that goes straight to your cock. You pull her closer and bury your face between her breasts, just breathing her in - her perfume mixed with her natural scent, the warmth of her skin, the rapid beat of her heart. You kiss the swell of her cleavage, the spot where the lace meets flesh, tracing patterns with your tongue that make her gasp and arch into you.
"Bed," she manages. "Lie back."
You do as instructed, letting her push you down until your back hits the mattress. She's above you, straddling your hips, her hair falling around both your faces as she leans down to kiss you. It's slower now, more deliberate, like she wants to savor every second. Your hands roam her body, mapping territory you're becoming intimately familiar with; the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the way her muscles shift under your palms.
Then she's moving, repositioning herself, and you realize what she's doing. She turns around so her back is facing you, still straddling but now giving you the most incredible view. Her ass in those red panties, the elegant line of her spine, the way her hair falls over one shoulder.
"Do you like the view?" she asks, looking back at you over her shoulder with a wicked smile.
You run your hands over her ass, squeezing appreciatively. "I really, really do."
"Good." She's shifting again, moving lower, her hands sliding up your thighs. "Because I really want to feel your mouth on my pussy again. Like last time."
The memory of that night in Gapyeong floods back, her taste, her sounds, the way she came apart under your tongue. Your cock twitches with interest.
"But this time," she continues, her fingers finding the waistband of your boxer briefs, "you won't be left out." She starts pulling them down slowly, teasingly, and when your cock springs free, already hard and leaking, she makes this satisfied hum. "I think that's only fair, don't you?"
"Very fair," you agree.
You hook your fingers into her panties and pull them to the side, revealing her pussy glistening in the low light of your bedroom. She's already wet, arousal coating her inner thighs. The perfect 69 position, both of you about to pleasure each other simultaneously, and you can't wait another second. You pull her hips back toward your face as she leans forward to take you in her mouth, your tongue makes first contact with her pussy and she gasps around your cock. She tastes exactly how you remember and you can't help the groan that escapes as you drag your tongue through her folds slowly, deliberately, savoring every inch. Her hips roll back against your face, seeking more pressure, more friction, and you're happy to give it to her.
At the same time, her mouth envelops you, hot and wet and perfect. She starts with just the tip, her tongue swirling around the head and catching the precum that's already leaking, and the sensation makes your thighs tense. She hums in appreciation at the taste, and then she's taking you deeper, inch by inch, until you can feel yourself hitting the back of her throat.
"Fuck, Jimin," you breathe against her pussy, pausing your own ministrations for just a second to process how good her mouth feels. "That's so good."
She pulls off, her hand wrapping around your shaft to stroke what her mouth isn't covering. "Then don't stop what you're doing," she says, already breathy. "I want to feel your tongue on my clit."
You obey immediately, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it with the tip of your tongue. Her reaction is instantaneous: her back arches, pushing her pussy harder against your face, and she lets out this desperate little whimper that makes you want to wreck her completely. You establish a rhythm, alternating between broad flat strokes through her folds and focused attention on her clit, listening to the sounds she makes to guide you to what feels best.
She returns her attention to your cock with renewed determination, and suddenly this feels less like mutual pleasure and more like a competition. Who can make the other lose control first. The realization seems to hit both of you at the same time because she increases her pace, taking you deeper, adding suction that makes your vision blur, while you double down on your efforts, sealing your lips around her clit and sucking.
"Oh god," she moans, her hips grinding against your face now. "That's… fuck, that's not fair."
You pull back just enough to speak, your breath hot against her wet flesh. "You started it. Taking me so deep like that."
"Because I want you to come for me," she says, pumping your cock with her hand while her tongue traces the vein running along the underside. "I want to taste it. Want to swallow every drop."
Her words send heat flooding through you, your cock pulsing in her grip. "Keep talking like that and you're going to get what you want really fast."
"Good." She takes you back in her mouth, and this time she's relentless, bobbing her head in a steady rhythm while her hand works what she can't fit. Her other hand cups your balls, rolling them gently.
You try to maintain your focus on her pleasure, your tongue working her clit in tight circles while you slide two fingers inside her, curling them to find that spot that makes her shake. She's so wet that they slip in easily, her walls clenching around you immediately.
"You're so wet," you murmur against her, punctuating your words with a long lick from her entrance to her clit. "Dripping all over my face. You love having my mouth on you, don't you?"
"Yes," she gasps, her movements on your cock faltering slightly as pleasure overtakes her concentration. "Love it so much. Your tongue feels amazing."
"And your mouth," you continue as she takes you particularly deep, "your mouth is fucking perfect. So hot and tight. I could come just from this."
"Then do it," she challenges, pulling off to look back at you over her shoulder. Her lips are swollen and slick. "Come for me. I want it."
She dives back down, and this time there's no teasing, no building. She's sucking you hard and fast, her hand twisting on every upstroke, and you know you're not going to last much longer. You increase your own pace to match, your tongue flicking rapidly over her clit while your fingers pump in and out of her.
"Fuck, Jimin, I'm close," you warn, your thighs trembling with the effort of holding back. "If you keep doing that—"
She just hums in acknowledgment and somehow takes you even deeper, and that's it. That's all it takes. Your orgasm hits you hard, pleasure exploding from your core and radiating outward. You groan against her pussy, your hips bucking up involuntarily as you come, spilling into her mouth in hot pulses. She doesn't pull away, doesn't hesitate, she takes everything you give her, swallowing around you, her throat working, and the sensation prolongs your orgasm until you're shaking beneath her.
Even as you're coming down, aftershocks still rolling through you, you don't stop working her pussy. If anything, you become more focused, determined to push her over that edge right behind you. Your fingers curl harder against her g-spot while your tongue assaults her clit with renewed purpose, and within seconds you feel her start to tense.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she chants, her thighs trembling on either side of your head. "Don't stop, please don't stop, I'm gonna—"
She doesn't finish the sentence because she's coming, her whole body going rigid as the orgasm crashes through her. You feel her pussy clench rhythmically around your fingers, more wetness flooding your mouth as you lap at her through it, extending her pleasure for as long as possible. She's making these broken, desperate sounds above you, her hand still loosely holding your softening cock.
Finally, she collapses forward, boneless and panting, and you have to gently guide her off you so neither of you suffocates. She ends up sprawled beside you on the bed, both of you catching your breath, skin flushed and sweaty.
"Holy shit," she manages after a minute, turning her head to look at you. "That was—"
"Intense," you finish for her.
"I was going to say incredible, but intense works too." She shifts closer, draping herself across your chest. "Though for the record, I totally made you come first."
"You did," you concede. "But it was close."
"Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades." She's grinning now, clearly pleased with herself. "I win."
"What do you win?"
"The satisfaction of knowing I can reduce you to a whimpering mess with just my mouth."
You laugh, wrapping an arm around her. "Fair enough. Though in my defense, you were literally swallowing my cock while simultaneously looking like every wet dream I've ever had in that lingerie. The odds were stacked against me."
"Excuses, excuses." But she's still smiling, nuzzling into your neck. "For what it's worth, you almost had me. That thing you do with your fingers while your tongue—"
You capture her mouth in a deep kiss, silencing whatever she was about to say. When you pull back, your eyes lock with hers. "It's not over yet," you murmur against her lips.
She makes a questioning sound, but you're already moving, your hands sliding up her back to find the clasp of her bra. Your fingers work the hooks with more confidence than you probably should have, and within seconds the red lace falls away, revealing her breasts, full and pale, her nipples already hard from arousal and the cool air of the bedroom. You've seen them before, touched them before, but every time feels like the first time, this sense of awe that she's here with you, that this is real.
"I'll never get tired of telling you how beautiful you are," you whisper, your hands coming up to cup the weight of her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples and making her gasp.
"Then don't stop," she says breathlessly, arching into your touch.
You kiss her again, your tongue sliding against hers while your hands continue their exploration. Her skin is so soft, warm and responsive to every touch, and you can feel her heart racing under your palms. She makes these small sounds of pleasure into your mouth, little gasps and sighs that drive you crazy, that make you want to catalog every single thing that brings her pleasure.
After a moment, she breaks the kiss and gently pushes at your shoulder. "Move to the edge of the bed," she instructs.
You obey without question, shifting until you're sitting on the edge of the mattress, feet on the floor. Jimin stands before you, and the sight is something out of a fantasy: her breasts bare and flushed, the red panties still pushed to the side from earlier, revealing the slick pink of her pussy. Her hair is messy from your hands, her lips swollen from kissing, and she looks thoroughly debauched in the best possible way.
She turns around slowly, deliberately, giving you her back. The elegant line of her spine, the curve of her ass in those panties, the way her hair falls between her shoulder blades, every detail is designed to torment you. She looks over her shoulder with a smile that's equal parts sweet and wicked.
"Just relax," she says, reaching between her legs to wrap her hand around your cock. You're already starting to harden again despite having just come, because apparently your body has decided that Jimin touching you overrides any normal refractory period.
She strokes you a few times, her grip firm and confident, and you can feel yourself getting harder with each pass of her hand. When she's satisfied with your state, she positions herself above you, the head of your cock pressing against her entrance. The heat of her is incredible even through that first point of contact, and you have to grip the edge of the mattress to keep from just pulling her down onto you.
"Ready?" she asks.
"Always," you manage.
She sinks down slowly, so slowly, taking you inch by inch into her tight heat. Unprotected sex has become familiar to you two lately, but the feeling of sliding into Jimin raw still hits like the very first time - always otherworldly. You both groan at the sensation, her walls stretching to accommodate you, the way she's still so wet and sensitive from her earlier orgasm, the perfect friction as she sheathes you completely. When she's fully seated in your lap, your cock buried to the hilt inside her, she pauses, just breathing, adjusting to the fullness.
"Fuck," she breathes. "You feel so good like this."
"So do you," you say, your hands coming up to rest on her hips, feeling the way her muscles shift as she starts to move.
She begins with small movements, just rolling her hips in slow circles, getting used to the angle. Then she lifts up slightly and drops back down. She establishes a rhythm, bouncing on your cock from behind, and the view is absolutely perfect; her ass moving up and down, the way you disappear into her pussy with each downward stroke, the way her body moves with this fluid grace.
Your hands slide from her hips up to her breasts, cupping them from behind. They fill your palms perfectly, soft and heavy, and you squeeze gently, feeling her nipples harden further against your skin. She leans back slightly, pressing her back against your chest, and the new angle makes you slide even deeper inside her.
"Yes," she sighs, her head falling back onto your shoulder. "Just like that."
You take advantage of her position to trail kisses along her shoulder, her neck, the sensitive spot behind her ear that makes her shiver. Your lips map the landscape of her skin, tasting salt and perfume and Jimin, while your hands continue to play with her breasts. You roll her nipples between your fingers, alternating between gentle touches and firmer pinches, learning what makes her breath hitch and her pussy clench around you.
"Your hands," she gasps, still riding you with those slow, deliberate movements. "God, your hands feel so good."
"Yeah?" You kiss the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, letting your teeth graze the skin. "Tell me what you like."
"Everything," she admits breathlessly. "The way you touch me, like you can't get enough. Like you want to memorize every inch of me."
"I do want that," you confess against her skin. "Want to know your body better than my own."
She makes this broken sound, a moan and a laugh at the same time, and her movements become slightly less controlled. You can feel her thighs trembling with the effort of maintaining the rhythm, can feel the way her pussy is fluttering around your cock in a way that suggests she's building toward something again already.
Your left hand stays on her breast, continuing its ministrations, while your right slides down her stomach, tracing the defined muscles there. She works so hard for this body, hours of dance practice and training, and you want to worship every result of that dedication. Your fingers trail lower until you find her clit.
"Oh fuck," she gasps when you make contact, her hips stuttering in their rhythm.
"Keep moving," you encourage, your fingers starting to circle that sensitive bud in time with her bouncing. "Don't stop. You look so beautiful like this, taking my cock, using me for your pleasure."
"It's not just for me," she manages. "You're you're hitting so deep like this."
"Good." You kiss her shoulder again, then her neck, working your way up to that spot just below her ear. "I want you to feel me everywhere. Want you to remember this tomorrow when you're in those meetings, when you're rehearsing. Want you thinking about how good this feels."
She moans at your words, her movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. She's no longer bouncing in that controlled rhythm but grinding down onto you, seeking friction against her clit from your hand while keeping you deep inside her. Her back is pressed fully against your chest now, her head turned to the side so you can kiss the corner of her jaw, her neck, anywhere you can reach.
"You're so tight," you murmur against her skin. "So wet. Can you feel how hard you make me? How much I want you?"
"Yes," she breathes. "I can feel everything."
Your hand on her breast squeezes a little harder, and your fingers on her clit increase their pressure slightly, and she makes this sound: high and desperate and absolutely beautiful. Her pussy clenches around you rhythmically, and you know she's getting close again, her body still sensitive from the first orgasm and building rapidly toward another.
But you don't want to rush this. Don't want it to end too quickly. So you deliberately slow your movements, your fingers easing off her clit, and she makes a sound of frustration.
"Don't stop," she pleads.
"Not stopping," you assure her. "Just slowing down. Want to make this last."
She takes a shuddering breath and nods, understanding. Her own movements slow to match yours, these long, languid rolls of her hips that keep you deep inside her while providing this steady, building pleasure that's intense without being overwhelming. It's intimate like this, her back pressed to your chest, your hands on her body, both of you moving together in this perfect synchronization.
"I love you," she says suddenly, quietly.
"I love you too," you respond, kissing her shoulder. "So much."
She turns her head, seeking your mouth, and you meet her in an awkward but passionate kiss, your neck craning to reach her. When you break apart, she's smiling.
"This is perfect," she says. "Right here, right now. Everything is perfect."
And she's right. It is.
The slow, languid rhythm continues for a few more moments, both of you savoring the intimacy and connection. But then something shifts in the air between you. Jimin's breathing becomes more ragged, her movements slightly more urgent, and you can feel the tension building in her body again.
"I need more," she says. "Please."
"Tell me what you need," you murmur against her shoulder, even though you already know.
"Faster. Harder. I need you to make me come."
Your fingers on her clit begin moving faster, applying more pressure, while your hand on her breast squeezes harder. Jimin responds immediately, her hips lifting and dropping with increased urgency, bouncing on your cock with real purpose now.
"Yes," she gasps, her back arching. "Just like that. Don't stop."
You have no intention of stopping. Your fingers work her clit in tight, rapid circles, matching the pace of her bouncing, and you can feel how swollen and sensitive she is under your touch. Every pass makes her pussy clench around your cock, makes her movements stutter slightly before she regains her rhythm. She's chasing her orgasm now with single-minded determination, using your body to get herself there.
"You're so close, aren't you?" you say against her ear. "I can feel it. Feel how tight you're getting around me."
Your left hand releases her breast and slides up to her throat, not squeezing, just resting there possessively while your right hand continues its relentless assault on her clit. Her movements are becoming erratic now, her thighs trembling with exertion, but she doesn't slow down. Actually, she speeds up, bouncing harder, taking you deeper. You can feel her wet pussy squeezing tighter, the sight and sound and feel of her falling apart overwhelming every sense.
"Come for me," you encourage, your fingers pressing harder against her clit. "Want to feel you come on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me."
"I'm—fuck, I'm—" She can't finish the sentence because she's coming, her entire body going rigid in your arms as the orgasm crashes through her. Her pussy clamps down on you like a vice, rhythmic pulses that milk your cock, and she's making these high, desperate sounds that go straight to your dick. You keep your fingers moving through it, drawing out her pleasure until she's shaking and pushing your hand away because it's too much, too sensitive.
She collapses back against you, boneless and gasping, and you wrap both arms around her waist to keep her upright. Your cock is still hard inside her, still buried deep, and even though she just came, you can feel her pussy still fluttering with aftershocks. You press kisses to her shoulder, her neck, her cheek, wherever you can reach, murmuring praise against her skin.
"That was incredible," you tell her. "You're incredible."
She makes a sound that might be agreement or just acknowledgment, still too wrung out to form words. After a moment, she lifts herself off you with a wince, and you slip out of her with a wet sound that makes you both groan for different reasons. She stands on shaky legs, turning to face you.
"Bed," she manages. "Need to lie down."
You stand with her, guiding her the few steps to the center of the mattress. She lies down on her side facing away from you, and you immediately understand what she wants. You lie down behind her, your body curving to fit against hers, your chest pressed to her back. This position is intimate in a different way, quieter, and you take a moment to just breathe with her, your hand stroking her hip. "You okay?" you ask softly.
"More than okay," she says. "But I'm not done with you yet."
She reaches back between your bodies and wraps her hand around your cock, still hard and slick with her arousal. She guides you to her entrance, lifting her top leg slightly to give you better access, and you slide inside her easily. The angle is different like this, tighter somehow.
"Fuck, Jimin," you breathe against her neck.
"I know," she agrees. "Feels so good like this."
You start moving slowly, shallow thrusts that keep you deep inside her while providing this constant, building friction. Your hand slides from her hip to her stomach, holding her against you, while your other arm is tucked under her neck, wrapped around her shoulders. She's completely enveloped in you like this, surrounded, and from the way her breathing is already starting to quicken, she loves it.
"This okay?" you ask, your lips brushing her ear.
"Perfect," she sighs, her hand covering yours on her stomach. "Everything about this is perfect.”
You establish a rhythm that's deliberate and deep, each thrust slow and measured as you pull almost completely out before sliding back in to the hilt. The position lets you reach places inside her that make her gasp every time you bottom out, your hips flush against her ass. There's something incredibly intimate about this: the way you're wrapped around her, the way she's completely open and vulnerable to you, the way every breath she takes you can feel against your chest.
"God, you're so deep like this," Jimin moans, her hand gripping yours tighter on her stomach. "I can feel every inch of you."
"Yeah?" You kiss the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, your lips trailing over the marks you left earlier. "You like feeling me this deep?"
"Love it," she breathes, her hips pushing back to meet your thrusts. "Love how full you make me feel."
You maintain that slow, deep pace, focusing on the sensation of her tight heat enveloping you, the way her walls grip your cock on every stroke. Your hand on her stomach can feel the slight bulge when you thrust in particularly deep, and the knowledge that she can feel you that intensely makes your head spin. She's so wet that every movement creates these obscene sounds, the slide of your cock through her slick pussy loud in the quiet bedroom.
"You feel amazing," you murmur against her ear. "So tight and wet for me. Could stay inside you forever."
Jimin moans sweetly and her free hand reaches back to tangle in your hair. The position pulls her body even tighter against yours, and you adjust your angle slightly, hitting a spot inside her that makes her cry out.
"There," she gasps. "Right there, please."
You file that information away, making sure to hit that same spot with every thrust. It requires a slight shift of your hips, a different angle, but the sounds she makes are worth it. Her breathing becomes more ragged, these soft moans escaping with every exhale that drive you crazy. You can feel her heart racing where your chest presses against her back, can feel the way her whole body responds to what you're doing to her.
"You're shaking," you observe, your hand sliding from her stomach up to cup her breast. Her nipple is hard against your palm, and you roll it between your fingers, adding another layer of sensation. "Sensitive baby?"
"Very," she admits. "Everything feels so intense. You're everywhere - inside me, around me, touching me. It's overwhelming."
"In a good way?"
"In the best way." She turns her head slightly, seeking your mouth, and you meet her in an awkward kiss over her shoulder. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
You obey, your thrusts remain deep and steady, each one deliberate, letting her feel the full length of you as you withdraw and then fill her completely again. The hand on her breast continues to play with her nipple while your other arm holds her close, your fingers splayed across her ribcage. You can feel every breath she takes, every tremor that runs through her body, every response to your touch.
"Talk to me," you encourage between thrusts. "Tell me how it feels."
"It feels..." She pauses, moaning as you hit that spot again. "It feels like you're claiming me. Like you're marking me inside and out. Like my body was made for this, made for you."
Her words send heat rushing through you, your cock pulsing inside her. "You are made for me," you agree. "This perfect pussy, these beautiful tits, this gorgeous body… all mine."
"All yours," she confirms breathlessly. "Only yours. Nobody else gets to have me like this, gets to see me like this."
The possessiveness in her words is undeniable, matches your own, and it does something to you. You increase the force of your thrusts slightly, still maintaining that deep penetration but adding more power behind each movement. The sound of your bodies meeting becomes louder, your hips slapping against her ass with each thrust, and Jimin's moans increase in volume to match.
"Yes," she encourages, her nails digging into your forearm. "Just like that. Harder."
You oblige, your hips snapping forward with more force, driving into her with purpose. The position gives you incredible leverage, and you use it, each thrust pushing her forward slightly before your arm around her waist pulls her back onto you. She’s taking you to the hilt, her pussy stretched tight around your cock, slick cream gathering where you meet, making every thrust glide deeper, wetter, easier.
"You take me so well," you praise. "Like your body knows exactly what to do with my cock."
"Because it does," she gasps. "We fit perfectly. You fill me perfectly. Everything about this is perfect."
Your hand leaves her breast and trails down her stomach, over her hip, to her ass. You squeeze the firm flesh, spreading her slightly to watch your cock disappear into her pussy with each thrust. The sight is mesmerizing, the way she stretches around you, the way her arousal coats your shaft, the way her body accepts you so completely.
"I love watching myself fuck you," you admit. "Love seeing how well you take me, how wet you get for me."
She whimpers at your words, her pussy clenching around you in response. "Keep talking. Love hearing you like this, hearing you lose control."
"Not losing control yet," you say, though your breathing is definitely more labored now. "Still focused on making you feel good. Still focused on every sound you make, every way your body responds to me."
You shift slightly, adjusting the angle again, and this time when you thrust in, Jimin nearly screams. Her whole body jerks, her back arching, and you know you've found something particularly sensitive.
"Oh my god," she pants. "What was that? How did you—"
"This?" You repeat the motion, hitting that same spot, and she makes that sound again. "Like this?"
"Yes, fuck, yes." Her hand scrambles behind her, trying to grab your hip, your ass, anything to pull you closer, deeper. "Don't stop doing that. Please don't stop."
You maintain that exact angle, that exact depth, each thrust calculated to hit that spot that makes her lose her mind. Your pace is still relatively controlled, still focused on depth over speed, but the power behind each movement increases. You can feel sweat starting to bead on your skin, can feel the exertion in your muscles, but you don't care. All that matters is the woman in your arms, the sounds she's making, the way her body is responding to yours.
"You're incredible like this," you tell her, your hand moving from her ass back to her breast. "So responsive, so perfect. Could fuck you like this for hours and never get tired of it."
"I wouldn't complain," she manages. "Could let you fuck me forever. Would let you do anything to me."
"I'll take care of you," you promise, your lips tracing the shell of her ear. "Always. In bed and out of it. You're mine to protect, mine to pleasure, mine to love."
You continue the deep, steady thrusts, your bodies moving together in perfect synchronization. Every time you push in, she pushes back, meeting you halfway. Every time you withdraw, she makes this small sound of protest, like even that brief separation is too much. It's intoxicating, this dance you're doing, this perfect rhythm you've found together.
"More," Jimin pleads, though you're not sure what more she wants. "I need more of you."
"You have all of me," you assure her, but you understand what she means. You increase your pace slightly, the thrusts coming faster now while maintaining that same depth. Your hand on her breast squeezes harder, your teeth find her shoulder and bite down gently, adding more sensations, more stimulation, more everything. She cries out, her body trembling in your arms, and you can feel how close she is again despite having already come twice tonight. You decide it's time to give her what she needs. "Ready?" you ask.
"God, yes," she breathes. "Please. I need to come so badly."
You shift your angle to find that spot again (the one that made her nearly scream earlier) and when you thrust in and hit it perfectly, her entire body goes rigid. "There," she gasps. "Right there, don't stop, please don't stop!"
You focus all your attention on hitting that exact spot with every thrust, increasing your pace gradually but maintaining that precision. Your hand slides from her breast down between her legs, fingers finding her clit and beginning to rub in tight circles. The dual stimulation makes her cry out, her hand flying back to grab your hip, urging you on.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chants. "I'm so close. Don't stop, please don't stop."
"Not stopping, babe,” you promise. "Want to feel you come on my cock. Want to feel you lose control."
Your thrusts become harder, faster, each one calculated to hit that spot deep inside her while your fingers work her clit relentlessly. You can feel the tension coiling in her body, the way her muscles are going taut, the way her breathing has become these short, desperate gasps. She's right on the edge, teetering, and you know exactly what will push her over.
"Come for me, baby," you murmur against her neck. "Let go. Make a mess for me."
That's all it takes. Jimin screams, actually screams, as the orgasm hits her with a sudden force. Her whole body convulsions in your arms, her back arching violently, and you feel it: the sudden gush of fluid as she squirts, soaking your cock, your thighs, the sheets beneath you. It's even more intense than that time in Gapyeong, her pussy clamping down so hard on your cock that you can barely move, rhythmic pulses that seem to go on forever.
"That's it," you encourage, your fingers still working her clit, drawing out every last drop of pleasure. "So good, baby. You're doing so good. Keep going, make a mess. Don't hold back."
And she doesn't. More fluid pulses out with each wave of her orgasm, her body completely out of her control as pleasure overwhelms every sense. She's making these broken, sobbing sounds, her hand gripping your forearm so tight it might leave bruises, and you've never seen anything more beautiful than Jimin completely lost in ecstasy.
You keep moving through it, slower now but still hitting that spot, prolonging her orgasm until she's trembling so hard she can barely breathe. Finally, she pushes weakly at your hand on her clit, oversensitive, and you immediately stop, your fingers moving to rest gently on her hip instead.
"Holy shit," she gasps when she can finally speak. "That was… I can't even—"
"Incredible," you finish for her, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder. "You were incredible."
She's still trembling with aftershocks, her pussy fluttering around your cock, which is still hard inside her despite how close you are to your own edge. The sheets beneath you are soaked through, a wet patch spreading across the mattress, and there's something deeply satisfying about the visual evidence of her pleasure.
"I made such a mess," she says weakly, though there's satisfaction in her words rather than embarrassment.
"You did," you agree, grinning against her skin. "It's perfect. You're perfect."
She makes a contented sound, but after a moment she shifts, and you understand she needs to move. You slip out of her carefully, both of you groaning at the loss of connection, and help her roll onto her back. She lies there for a moment, chest heaving, skin flushed and glowing with sweat, and you take a second just to admire her. Thoroughly fucked, completely satisfied, absolutely gorgeous. But you're not done yet. Your cock is still achingly hard, slick with her arousal, and you need release. Jimin seems to realize this at the same time, her eyes focusing on your erection with new interest.
"Come here," she says. She shifts slightly on the bed, moving to lie more fully on her back in the center, and pats her chest. "I want to try something."
You move to straddle her waist, understanding immediately what she's suggesting. Your cock rests in the valley between her breasts, and just the sight of it, your length against her pale skin, makes you throb with need. You shift forward, guiding your cock to her mouth first, the head pressing against her lips. "Taste yourself first," you say. "Want you to taste how wet you got for me."
Jimin opens immediately, her tongue darting out to lick the head before she takes you into her mouth. You push in deep, not quite hitting the back of her throat but close, and she moans around you at the taste of her own arousal coating your shaft. She sucks enthusiastically, her eyes fluttering closed as she savors the flavor, her tongue swirling around you to gather every drop.
"Fuck, that's hot," you groan, watching her lips stretch around your girth. "You like tasting yourself on my cock?"
She nods as much as she can with her mouth full, humming in affirmation, and the vibration makes you throb. After a few more seconds, you reluctantly pull out, a string of saliva connecting her lips to your cock before it breaks.
"Now the tits," you say, repositioning yourself to straddle her chest again. Your cock, now wet from her mouth, slides easily into the valley between her breasts.
Jimin immediately pushes her breasts together with both hands, creating that perfect tight channel, and you start thrusting. The sensation is insane; the softness of her skin, the pressure she's creating, the way the head of your cock appears between her breasts with every forward thrust. It's different from anything else, this unique pleasure that has your thighs trembling already.
"God, your tits feel amazing," you breathe, your pace increasing. "So soft and perfect wrapped around my cock."
"Yeah?" She looks up at you with those eyes: big and dark and pleading, innocent and dirty all at once. "You like fucking my tits?"
"Love it," you confirm, your hips snapping forward harder. "Love watching my cock disappear between them. Love how you're squeezing them for me."
She adjusts her grip, pushing them together even tighter, and the increased pressure makes you gasp. "Like this? Is this good?"
"So good, baby. So fucking good."
Your pace becomes more urgent, more desperate, and you're fucking her breasts with real force now, your hips pistoning as you chase your release. Jimin watches your face intently, reading every expression, every sign that you're getting closer, and then she starts talking.
"Come for me," she says. "Please, baby. Want to feel your cum all over me."
"Fuck," you grunt, your movements becoming erratic.
"Want you to cover me," she continues, squeezing her breasts rhythmically in time with your thrusts. "Mark me with your cum. Show me how good I make you feel."
"Jimin—"
"Please," she begs, and her voice is so sweet, so eager, so genuinely desperate for it. "Need your cum, baby. Need you to give it to me. Be a good boy and come for me. Come all over my tits."
"Going to come," you warn. "Fuck, Jimin, I'm going to—"
"Yes," she encourages, squeezing her breasts even tighter. "Give it to me. Want all of it."
The orgasm hits you hard, intense and overwhelming after being held back for so long. The first spurt is powerful, shooting up between her breasts with such force that it lands across her face, a thick rope of cum that splashes across her cheek, her nose, her parted lips. She gasps at the impact, her eyes widening, and then she moans, this deep sound of pure satisfaction as she feels your hot release marking her skin.
"Yes, baby, yes," she encourages breathlessly, watching your face contort with pleasure.
The subsequent spurts paint her breasts in thick white stripes, covering the pale skin, pooling in her cleavage. She squeezes her breasts tighter, milking your cock for every last drop, and you keep coming, more than you thought possible, coating her chest thoroughly. It seems to go on forever, each pulse wringing more pleasure from you until you're shaking and gasping, completely spent.
When you finally finish, you're bracing yourself on the headboard with both hands, breathing hard, your entire body trembling with the aftermath. Jimin is a mess beneath you - cum dripping down her face, coating her breasts, pooling in her cleavage - and she looks absolutely delighted about it.
"That was so much," she says, full of wonder and satisfaction. Then, maintaining eye contact with you, she sticks out her tongue and licks the cum from her lips, from her cheek, gathering as much as she can reach. The sight is simultaneously cute and obscene, her expression almost innocent despite the absolutely filthy nature of what she's doing.
"You're incredible," you manage.
"Mm, and you taste amazing," she responds, using her fingers to wipe more cum from her face and bringing them to her mouth to suck clean. Then she does something that nearly makes you hard again despite having just come: she cups her own breasts, lifting them toward her mouth, and proceeds to lick them clean. Her tongue traces patterns through the cum covering her skin, gathering it, savoring it, all while making these little satisfied sounds.
"I love the taste of your cum," she says between licks, completely unselfconscious about it. "Could lick it off myself all day."
"Jesus Christ, Jimin," you breathe, watching her continue her thorough cleaning. "You're going to kill me."
She grins up at you, cum still visible on her chin. "But what a way to go, right?"
You can't argue with that logic. You carefully move off her, collapsing onto the bed beside her, and she immediately curls into your side, apparently unbothered by the mess still covering her. Your hand finds hers, fingers intertwining, and you both just lie there catching your breath, hearts slowly returning to normal rhythm.
"We should probably shower," she says eventually, though she makes no move to get up.
"Probably," you agree, equally unmotivated to leave the warmth of the bed.
"And change the sheets. I definitely ruined these."
"Worth it."
She laughs, happy, and turns her head to kiss your shoulder. "Definitely worth it."
You lie there in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, just existing together in the aftermath, before reality starts creeping back in. Dinner is probably cold. You both definitely need showers. The bed is a disaster. But none of that seems important right now, not when Jimin is wrapped around you, safe and satisfied and yours.
—
You wake up to sunlight streaming through the bedroom window, the kind of warm golden light that only happens on lazy weekend mornings. For a moment you just lie there, listening to Jimin's soft breathing beside you, watching the way her face looks peaceful in sleep. Saturday. your day off, and Jimin only has appointments scheduled for later in the afternoon. No rush, no urgency, just time stretching out ahead of you like a reward after everything you two have been through.
Carefully, so as not to wake her, you slip out of bed. She stirs slightly, making a small sound of protest before burrowing deeper into the pillows you left behind. You pull on sweatpants and pad quietly to the kitchen, deciding to make her breakfast. Nothing fancy, just scrambled eggs, toast, some fruit you bought earlier in the week, but made with care. You brew coffee for yourself and tea for her, the kind she likes with honey and lemon, and by the time everything's ready, you hear movement from the bedroom.
Jimin appears a few minutes later wearing one of her pajama sets that she left here weeks ago, soft pink cotton shorts and a matching tank top that rides up slightly when she stretches. Her hair is messy from sleep, no makeup, and she looks absolutely perfect in that effortless way that always takes your breath away.
"Morning," she says, and you notice she's still sleepy as she walks over and wraps her arms around you from behind.
"Good morning, beautiful." You turn in her embrace to kiss her properly, soft and unhurried. "I made you breakfast."
"I can see that." She eyes the plate on the counter appreciatively. "And smell it. You're spoiling me."
"You deserve to be spoiled." You pat her ass affectionately. "Go eat. I'll meet you in the living room."
She steals one more kiss before grabbing her plate and tea, padding into the living room. You follow with your own coffee, settling onto the couch as she curls up beside you, tucking her feet under her. You grab the remote and turn on the TV to some morning news program, just background noise while you eat.
"We have a few hours before you need to leave," you observe, glancing at the clock. "Any ideas how you want to spend them?"
Jimin gives you this look: the one where her eyes go soft and warm and a little bit wicked all at once. "Well," she says, setting her plate down on the coffee table and shifting closer. "I was thinking maybe some cuddling. And possibly more sex. That sounds like a pretty good way to spend a Saturday morning."
"I more than agree with that plan," you say, grinning.
She's about to say something else when a news anchor's voice cuts through your attention. "—SM Entertainment has identified and is taking legal action against the individual responsible for leaking private security footage—"
Your hand reaches for the remote, ready to change the channel, but Jimin stops you. "Wait. I want to hear this.”
"The footage, which showed idol Karina of the group aespa in a private moment with a staff member, sparked controversy when it was leaked online three weeks ago. SM Entertainment announced today that they have identified the perpetrator, a former IT contractor with access to the company's security systems, and are pursuing both criminal charges and a civil lawsuit has been charged with unauthorized access to computer systems, violation of privacy laws, and corporate espionage. SM's legal team stated that they will be seeking maximum penalties, including substantial financial damages. The company's CEO released a statement saying, 'We take the privacy and safety of our artists extremely seriously. This violation will not be tolerated, and we will pursue justice to the fullest extent of the law.'"
The camera cuts to footage of SM's building, then back to the anchor who's already moving on to the next story. You mute the TV and turn to look at Jimin, who's staring at the screen with wide eyes.
"They found him," she murmurs. "They actually found who did it."
"They found him," you confirm, and then you're both moving at once, pulling each other into a tight embrace. "Finally. It's about fucking time."
"I can't believe it." She pulls back to look at you. "They're actually holding him accountable. Suing him. Pressing charges."
"He's going to pay for what he did," you say firmly. "For what he put you through. Put us through."
She nods, wiping a lone tear from her eye. "It feels like everything's being resolved now. Like all the pieces are finally falling into place. The tour is back on, the company's supporting us, and now this? Now they're going after the person who actually caused all of this?"
"Maybe things are finally returning to normal," you suggest. "Or at least whatever our version of normal is."
"I hope so." She takes a shaky breath, her smile growing more genuine. "I really hope so. That we can just... move forward from all of this."
You pull her onto your lap, and she comes willingly, straddling you and wrapping her arms around your neck. "There's nothing left for you to do now except focus on your work," you tell her. "Let SM's legal team handle this asshole. You just concentrate on the tour, on performing, on doing what you love."
"And on you," she adds, kissing your nose. "Focusing on you too."
"I'll accept that." You run your hands up and down her back soothingly. "But seriously, this is good news. Great news. Justice is finally being served."
She rests her forehead against yours, just breathing with you for a moment. "I'm so glad we faced this together," she says quietly. "I don't think I could have survived it without you. Having you there, supporting me, believing in me when it felt like the whole world was against us… that made all the difference."
"We're a team," you remind her. "Always have been, always will be. You and me against whatever bullshit the universe throws at us."
"You and me," she echoes, smiling. "I like the sound of that."
"This was a really fucked up chapter in our relationship," you admit, thinking back over the past few weeks: the fear, the uncertainty, the moments where it felt like everything was falling apart. "But every story has trials, right? Every relationship goes through hard times. Ours just happened to involve a leaked video and national media attention."
She laughs at that, the sound a little watery but genuine. "When you put it like that, we sound very dramatic."
"We are dramatic. Look at us: childhood best friends who lost touch, reunited by chance, fell in love, had to hide it, got exposed, and somehow survived. That's prime K-drama material right there."
"Don't give them ideas," she jokes. "The last thing we need is someone making a show about us."
"Too late. I'm already writing the screenplay in my head." You grin at her expression. "What comes next though? That's the real question."
She tilts her head, considering. "What do you think comes next?"
"Honestly? I have no idea." You trace patterns on her back absently. "But I have a feeling it's going to be good things. The worst is behind us. The tour is happening, your career is safe, they found the guy who leaked the footage. From here, things can only get better."
"You sound very optimistic for someone who was stress-drinking three cups of coffee every morning three weeks ago."
"What can I say? Good news puts me in a good mood." You lean back against the couch, pulling her with you. "Plus, I have you on my lap on a Saturday morning with nowhere to be for hours. Life is pretty good right now."
She kisses you then, slow and sweet. When she pulls back, her eyes are bright with unshed tears but she's smiling. "So what's the plan for these few hours we have? Still interested in that cuddling and sex combination I mentioned?"
"Absolutely," you confirm. "Though maybe we could add 'celebrating good news' to that list."
"Celebratory sex?" Her eyebrows raise playfully. "I can work with that."
"Thought you might. Breakfast, then bedroom.”
She gets off your lap and sits next to you, reaching for her plate. "You know what the best part of all this is?" she asks between bites of eggs.
"What's that?"
"We don't have to hide anymore. No more sneaking around, no more secret meetings. When I leave here later, I can just... leave. Normal goodbye. Maybe even a kiss at the door like regular couples do."
"Revolutionary," you tease, but you understand what she means. The freedom of not having to constantly look over your shoulder, to just exist as a couple without the weight of secrecy.
"It is revolutionary," she insists. "For us, anyway. After everything we went through to keep this secret, then everything we went through when it became public - to finally just be together openly? That's huge. Of course we’re not going around showing off our relationship for everyone to see, but you know what I mean.”
She's right. It is huge. And as you sit there on the couch with her, the TV playing quietly in the background, Saturday morning light spilling through the windows, you realize that this is what you fought for. Not the grand gestures or dramatic moments, but this: simple, quiet contentment. The ability to just be together without fear.
"I love you," you tell her, because it feels important to say it in this moment.
"I love you too," she responds immediately, leaning against your shoulder. "So much. More than I knew I could love anyone."
Jimin happily eats the breakfast you prepared, occasionally commenting on whatever's on TV, and when she sets her empty plate down and turns to you with that look in her eyes, you don't hesitate. You pull her back onto your lap, kiss her deeply, and start the slow, sweet journey toward the bedroom.
── .✦ Stolen moments are sweet. But it’s not the one that people around you see, you’re left questioning if those late-night whispers ever meant anything.
┃yu jimin x fem! reader
── .✦ angst, fluff, cheating, secrecy, man lol
┃7.2k+
🪶ᯓ fyi this is the first story that I wrote ever since, and yess it’s inspired by that one karina fic ikyk but I think they deleted their account..? good fic tho 🫶 enjoyyy
Friday nights at SNU had a rhythm of their own. The kind that no syllabus could account for, no professor could schedule against, and no introvert could escape.
By 9pm, music had already started leaking out of the campus center basement, a neon pulse drawing half the student body in. By ten, the place was alive, shoulders brushing shoulders, red cups stacked like pyramids, bodies moving to a bass line that rattled the walls.
You had sworn you weren’t going this time. You had a design review coming up, your model wasn’t even half done, and your X-Acto knife had become more familiar than your own reflection. But Ryujin, Yeji, and Yuna had a different vision.
“Don’t make us drag you,” Ryujin warned, already dressed like the human version of a party flyer, Yeji beside her dressed in a tight black dress.
Yuna smirked, holding out a black leather she clearly wanted you to wear. “You’ve been in sweats all week. One night won’t kill you.”
“It might,” you muttered, but thirty minutes later, you were being herded across campus with your jacket zipped up to your chin.
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
The party was exactly what you’d expected: humid air, sticky floors, people screaming over songs they half-knew. You stuck to the corner at first, nursing a drink that smelled suspiciously like nail polish remover, and tried to fade into the background.
But then you saw her.
Karina Yu.
It was impossible not to. She was framed by the glow of string lights, laughing at something Ningning said, Heeseung’s arm slung casually around her shoulders. She looked like the kind of person who belonged in moments like this. Effortlessly magnetic, perfectly put-together.
And then there was you, sweaty from the walk over, clutching your cup like it was a life vest.
You dragged your gaze away. People like her didn’t notice people like you.
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
Hours blurred. Ryujin had already declared herself the beer pong champion of the night, Yuna and Yeji had disappeared into the crowd, and you… you were three drinks in and realizing your head was lighter than it should’ve been.
You stumbled out to the porch, desperate for air.
The night was cool against your overheated skin. You leaned against the railing, watching cigarette smoke curl into the dark, trying to ground yourself.
That was when a voice cut in.
“Not your scene either, huh?”
You turned. Karina stood there, solo cup in hand, her smile soft and just a little crooked. Without Heeseung.
Your brain short-circuited. “Uh. Yeah. I guess.”
She stepped closer, leaning on the same railing. The scent of her perfume. Something floral, sharp, expensive, brushed against you.
For a few seconds, you stood in silence, just listening to the muffled thump of music inside. Then she tilted her head toward you.
“You’re in architecture, right?”
Your surprise must’ve shown, because she laughed. “I’ve seen you in the studio building. Always there, even at like midnight. Do you sleep?”
“Not really,” you admitted, words slipping easier than they should have. “Models don’t build themselves.”
She hummed, sipping her drink. “That explains the dark circles. Cute, though.”
Your brain stalled again. Cute? Was she—
But before you could respond, someone from inside called her name. She glanced back, then at you, and for a split second, her eyes lingered.
Then the memory fractured.
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
You remembered flashes, not sequences.
Her hand brushing yours as she pulled you back inside.
Laughter against your ear as the music swallowed you both.
The taste of alcohol on her lips.
A door shutting.
Skin against skin, your back hitting sheets that didn’t feel like yours.
Her breath, shaky, against your throat.
The heat of her body, the weight of her pressing you down.
Your hands gripping, pulling, wanting—
And then—
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
You woke up in your own bed.
Your head was splitting, your mouth dry, and your clothes were scattered across the floor like a breadcrumb trail of bad decisions.
“Shit,” you whispered, sitting up too fast. Across the room, Yuna stirred under her blanket. “Morning. You look dead.”
“What happened last night?” you asked, voice hoarse.
She squinted at you. “I don’t know. You disappeared halfway through. Ryujin thought you went home early.”
“I—” You cut yourself off, scanning the floor again. Jeans. Top. Underwear. All peeled off like someone had helped you out of them.
You swallowed hard. “Did I… come back with anyone?” Yuna frowned. “Not that I saw.” She rolled over, clearly not awake enough to care.
Your stomach twisted.
For the next week, you threw yourself into work, convincing yourself you were just imagining things. Maybe you’d undressed yourself and forgotten. Maybe the flashes in your head were dreams.
But then you saw her.
Karina. Across the quad, sunlight turning her hair into silk. She was with her friends, but when your eyes met, she paused.
And she smiled.
Not polite. Not passing. But knowing.
It made your chest tighten in ways you couldn’t explain.
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
The universe, apparently, wasn’t done with you.
Two days later, Giselle crashed into your studio, plopping onto your drafting table like she owned it.
“You need a break,” she declared, stealing the pencil from your hand. “We’re having a picnic Friday. You’re coming.” Before you could protest, Ryujin, Yeji, and Yuna walked in, grinning. “We already said yes for you.”
Which was how you ended up on the grass that weekend, surrounded by them.
Karina was there. Of course she was. And this time, Heeseung wasn’t. You froze halfway through sitting down, but Karina looked straight at you and said, with disarming casualness:
“Hi.”
You swallowed. “Hi.”
Ningning glanced between you two, eyebrows raised. “Wait—do you guys know each other?”
You opened your mouth, ready to say no. But Karina beat you to it.
“Yeah,” she said smoothly, her gaze locking with yours. “We’ve met.”
Your pulse spiked.
Because if she remembered that night. If she knew exactly what happened,
why couldn’t you?
The picnic was supposed to be a break. Giselle had promised fresh air, good food, and “at least one stupid story from Ryujin to keep us entertained.”
She hadn’t mentioned that Karina would be there.
You were sitting on the grass, knees bent, sketchbook balanced across your lap just in case you had a spark of inspiration mid-bite. Ryujin and Yuna had sprawled on either side of you, already arguing about whether the fried chicken was better from the shop outside campus or the one near the station while Yeji watched them and laughed.
Across the circle, Karina laughed at something Winter said. Her hair caught the sunlight, gleaming like it had its own filter. Every time she shifted, her bracelets jingled faintly, like she was mic’d up just for your attention.
You focused on peeling the lid off a kimbap container.
“Why are you all the way over there?” Ningning asked suddenly, pointing a chopstick at you. “Come closer. It’s not like we bite.”
“I’m good here,” you said quickly. Ryujin smirked. “She’s shy.”
You gave her a shove, but it was too late. Ningning had already scrambled across the blanket, grabbed your wrist, and dragged you over until you were sitting directly across from Karina.
“Perfect,” Ningning said with a grin. “Now we can all see each other.”
Karina’s gaze flicked up, meeting yours. Her smile was small but deliberate, like she’d been waiting for the rearrangement.
You busied yourself with your chopsticks.
The conversation wound through every topic imaginable. Professors who talked too fast, group project horror stories, which campus cat was secretly plotting world domination. Ryujin and Winter bickered, Yuna recorded everything for “future blackmail,” and Ningning egged them all on. While the other two giggles amused.
You contributed when necessary, sarcasm slipping out like second nature. That earned you more laughs than expected, especially from Karina.
Every time she laughed at something you said, her eyes crinkled just slightly at the corners. Every time, you felt your chest warm in ways you weren’t ready to examine.
Eventually, Ningning leaned back on her elbows and smirked. “So, how do you two know each other?”
The air seemed to pause.
You opened your mouth, ready to deflect—but Karina beat you to it.
“We met at a party,” she said smoothly, sipping her drink. Ryujin perked up. “Which one?”
Karina shrugged. “Last month. The basement one.” Her tone was casual, but her gaze stayed fixed on you. You forced a laugh. “Yeah, I don’t remember much of that night.”
Karina’s lips curved. “Maybe I’ll remind you sometime.”
The group groaned at the vague answer, quickly moving on to another topic, but your pulse stayed loud in your ears.
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
Over the next couple of weeks, your lives overlapped more than you’d expected.
At first, it was group stuff—lunches, volleyball games, movie nights crammed into someone’s dorm lounge. But slowly, it became something else.
Karina started sitting next to you more often. Not in a pushy way. Just close enough that you noticed the brush of her knee, the scent of her perfume. She asked about your projects, leaning over your sketches with genuine curiosity. “This is amazing. Do you ever sleep?”
Sometimes she teased you. “You’re always in sweats. Do architects have a dress code for exhaustion?”
Other times she slipped in compliments that threw you off balance. “That color looks good on you.” “You’re smarter than half the professors here.” “Cute when you’re focused.”
Always casual. Always dismissible. And yet, they stuck.
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
The pojangmacha night cemented the shift.
The whole group had crowded into a tiny tent on the edge of campus. The table was covered in plates. Tteokbokki, fish cakes, fried mandu, half of which had already been stolen by Ryujin. Bottles of soju clinked as Winter poured shots with the precision of someone who’d been volunteered as designated server.
“Three, two, one—” Ryujin slammed her shot glass down, victorious against Giselle in a round of rock-paper-scissors that had somehow escalated into drinking punishment.
Everyone laughed, voices loud, cheeks flushed.
You were halfway through chewing when Karina slid onto the bench beside you, her thigh pressing against yours under the table.
“You don’t talk much in groups,” she said quietly, close enough that only you could hear. You swallowed your bite. “I talk when I have something to say.”
She tilted her head, studying you. “I like that. Most people just talk to fill silence.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Including you?”
She smiled, resting her chin on her hand. “Only when I’m nervous.”
The honesty of it caught you off guard. You blurted, “And are you nervous now?”
For a second, her eyes softened, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before. But then she looked away, smile curling back into place. “Maybe.”
Your stomach flipped.
The night spiraled into chaos after that. Ningning insisting on karaoke, Winter trying to harmonize, Yeji filming blackmail material. But through it all, Karina stayed close, her hand brushing yours when she passed the chopsticks, her laugh spilling against your ear when you muttered sarcastic commentary.
When the group finally stumbled out onto the street, you hung back, needing space from the noise. Karina slowed until she was beside you.
“Walk me back?” she asked, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Sure,” you heard yourself say.
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
Campus was hushed, the lamps throwing golden pools of light onto the pavement. For a while, neither of you spoke. Then Karina broke the silence.
“You really don’t remember that night, do you?” You tensed. “No. I blacked out.”
She hummed. “I didn’t.”
Your breath caught. “Did… something happen?” She looked at you, unreadable. “Do you want something to have happened?”
You stopped walking, pulse in your throat. “Karina—”
But she just smiled, stepping closer. Her hand brushed yours, light as static, gone before you could respond.
And then she kept walking, leaving you rooted in place with your heart pounding.
The problem with secrets is that they never stay buried.
You knew that, of course. You’d seen it happen with other people. Drunken mistakes turned rumors, whispers caught by the wrong ears, confessions that snowballed until they were out of control. But you never expected your secret—this secret, to crawl out from the shadows like it did.
It happened over dinner, a Friday night that should’ve been harmless.
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
The restaurant was loud, filled with clinking glasses and overlapping conversations. You were squished into a booth between Ningning and Winter, pretending to read the menu even though your stomach was too tight to feel hungry. Across from you sat Karina, her posture relaxed, her fingers idly stirring the straw in her drink.
You tried not to look at her. You tried really hard.
But her eyes flicked up anyway, meeting yours just as you glanced across the table. It was quick. Half a second, maybe, but it was enough to make your pulse trip over itself.
You looked away immediately, pretending to laugh at something Ningning whispered.
Karina didn’t stop looking.
The food arrived. The noise swelled. You exhaled, grateful for the distraction of shared plates and stolen bites, of GIselle arguing with Ryujin about dessert orders.
You were mid-bite when Karina leaned forward, her voice low enough that it slipped under the chatter but landed squarely in your ears.
“You really don’t remember, do you?”
The chopsticks froze in your hand. You blinked at her, heartbeat suddenly loud in your throat.
“…What?”
Her lips curved, not a smirk, not exactly a smile. Something smaller. Sharper.
“That night,” she said. “After the party.”
Your mouth went dry. The room seemed to tilt sideways, your friends’ voices blurring into meaningless noise.
Karina didn’t look away. As she slowly said the three words that seemed impossible to believe.
The words hit like a slap. You dropped your chopsticks, coughing hard enough that Yuna grabbed your water and shoved it into your hands.
“Hey, hey, you okay?”
You nodded frantically, gulping down water until the burn in your throat eased. “Yeah,” you croaked. “Wrong pipe.”
Winter squinted at you but let it go, turning back to her argument with Ryujin.
Karina didn’t let it go.
Her gaze stayed locked on yours, calm and steady, as if she hadn’t just set fire to the fragile scaffolding holding you upright.
Your chest tightened. “Excuse me,” you muttered, pushing away from the table. You didn’t wait for anyone to answer.
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
The bathroom was mercifully empty. You gripped the sink, staring at your reflection. Wide eyes, skin pale, hands trembling.
We hooked up.
No. No, that couldn’t—
But flashes pricked at the edges of your memory. Heat. Hands. Her laugh. You pressed your palms to your eyes until stars bloomed behind them.
The door creaked. Your heart stopped.
And then her voice: “So it’s true. You really don’t remember.”
You spun, back hitting the sink. Karina stood by the door, one hand loosely in her pocket, the other brushing a strand of hair from her face. She looked maddeningly composed, like she wasn’t detonating your entire life in real time.
“What the hell, Karina?” Your voice cracked.
Her brows lifted. “What?”
“You can’t just—” You cut yourself off, words splintering into panic. “You can’t just drop something like that at dinner!” She tilted her head, eyes scanning your face. “You asked.”
“I didn’t—” You broke off, clutching the sink again. “I didn’t ask for that.”
Silence stretched. She crossed the room slowly, stopping a careful distance from you.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said softly.
“You don’t even care?” Your voice was thin, unsteady. “You’re standing there like it’s nothing.”
She considered you, gaze unreadable. “Because it isn’t nothing. But it isn’t the end of the world, either.”
You let out a sharp laugh, humorless. “Easy for you to say.”
Karina’s lips pressed together, but she didn’t argue.
Finally, she said, “I just thought you deserved to hear it from me. Instead of whispers. Or guesses. Or…” Her eyes flicked over you. “Or denial.”
You swallowed hard.
“I had a good time,” she added, voice even. “That’s all.” Your chest seized. The casualness of it—like she was describing a meal she’d enjoyed, not the night that kept clawing at the edges of your memory—made your stomach twist.
“I don’t remember,” you whispered.
“I know.”
“Then how can you—how can you just—” You broke off, shaking your head. “Karina, this is insane.”
Her expression softened. “It doesn’t have to be.” You stared at her, panic and confusion tangled so tightly you couldn’t breathe. “I can’t do this.”
You shoved past her, storming out before she could answer.
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
The days after blurred together.
You perfected the art of avoidance: ducking into side hallways, timing your exits, even skipping meals if it meant not risking the cafeteria. You knew it was pathetic, childish even. But the alternative was facing her, and you weren’t ready for that.
Not when she looked at you like she wasn’t sorry.
Not when she sounded so calm while you were unraveling.
Your friends noticed
“Why are you acting like Karina’s a serial killer?” Ningning demanded one night, sprawled across your bed. You glared at your laptop. “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” Ryujin called from the floor, tossing popcorn into her mouth. “You see her and bolt like you’re being chased.”
“Maybe I just don’t like her,” you muttered.
Winter snorted. “Please. No one doesn’t like Karina.”
You slammed your laptop shut. “Well, I don’t.”
The room fell quiet for a beat.
“Okay,” Ningning said slowly. “Whatever you say.” But their side glances told you they didn’t buy it.
And maybe you didn’t, either.
Because the truth was, every time you caught sight of her. At the edge of the quad, in a lecture hall you swore she wasn’t supposed to be in, you felt that same twist in your stomach.
A mix of dread. And something else you refused to name. She never looked upset when you avoided her. Never angry.
Just patient.
Amused, even.
Like she knew you’d run out of places to hide.
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
The campus bathroom wasn’t exactly the kind of place you expected to have your heart thrown into chaos. But that’s what it felt like the second the door slammed shut behind you.
You froze, still bent over the sink, hands wet from splashing cold water onto your tired face. Your reflection in the mirror looked wrecked: hoodie sleeves shoved to your elbows, hair in a messy bun that was falling apart, dark smudges under your eyes from another late night in studio.
And then you saw her reflection too.
Karina.
Leaning against the door she’d just shoved closed, arms crossed over her chest, gaze fixed on you like she’d finally cornered a problem she’d been chasing for weeks.
“Why are you avoiding me?” Her voice carried across the tiled room, sharp but steady. Not cruel, just demanding.
You dried your hands on your hoodie, avoiding her eyes. “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” She pushed off the door and stepped closer, sneakers squeaking against the tiles. “You leave the group hangouts early, you won’t even look at me in lectures, and every time I try to sit near you, you move.”
Your jaw tightened. “Maybe I’m just busy. Architecture doesn’t exactly run on free time.”
Karina let out a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t give me that. You’ll sit for hours with Ryujin and Yuna, but with me, suddenly you’re ‘busy.’”
You finally turned to face her. She looked good. Too good, in that way that only made you more defensive. Hair sleek and perfect, eyes sharp even though they glistened with something softer. And the way she was looking at you, half frustrated, half hurt, made your stomach twist.
“Karina, you have a boyfriend,” you said flatly.
That landed like a slap. She froze, lips pressing together, but didn’t look away. Heesung’s name wasn’t spoken, but it hung between you anyway.
“You think I don’t know that?” she finally asked, voice lower now.
“Then why are you doing this?” Your words came out louder than you meant, bouncing off the tiled walls.
Her expression shifted, just slightly, like a crack in armor. She stepped closer, close enough that you could catch her perfume beneath the sterile bathroom air. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you. That night—”
“Don’t,” you cut her off, panic bubbling up.
But she pressed on, softer now, almost pleading. “That night, we kissed. You were drunk, but you wanted me. And I…” She swallowed hard, eyes flickering to your lips before locking on your gaze again. “I can’t forget it. I don’t want to forget it.”
Your chest tightened, blood rushing in your ears. Shame mixed with something dangerously like hope. “You shouldn’t have told me that,” you whispered.
Karina’s hand lifted, hesitating in the air like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to touch you. “I shouldn’t have waited this long either.”
You backed into the sink, gripping the porcelain edge, trying to ground yourself. “Karina, this isn’t—this can’t—”
“Tell me to stop and I will.” Her voice cracked then, but she held your gaze. “Just tell me you don’t feel it too.”
The words stuck in your throat. Because you did feel it. You’d been feeling it since the party, since her eyes kept finding yours in crowded rooms, since her laugh always came a second too late when it was at something you said.
Your silence was all the answer she needed.
She stepped in, closing the last inches of space, and whispered, “Then let me be the one who takes the blame.”
And then her lips were on yours.
It wasn’t cautious. Weeks of tension spilled out all at once—her hand cupping your jaw, your fingers twisting into her hoodie. She kissed you like she’d been waiting, like she’d been holding back every time she looked at you across a room. And you kissed her back because the fight had already been lost the moment she walked in.
When you broke apart, both of you were breathless.
“This is wrong,” you whispered, forehead still pressed against hers.
“Maybe,” she said, voice shaking, “but it feels right.”
You wanted to argue. You wanted to tell her she couldn’t say things like that while Heesung still existed, while you were still trying to pretend this was nothing. But the truth was, you didn’t want to stop.
And neither did she.
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
It started small, almost laughably so.
Karina waiting for you outside the studio late at night with two steaming cups of instant ramen. “You’re going to starve in there,” she’d tease, sitting cross-legged on the floor until you joined her.
Karina slipping her phone across the library desk with a doodle she’d made of you half-asleep over your sketchbook. “Don’t drool on the tracing paper,” the caption said.
Karina tugging you into empty stairwells between lectures just to press her lips to yours, laughing into the kiss like it was the most dangerous thrill she’d ever felt.
Every moment was stolen, every touch was hidden. And yet, they were yours.
You found yourself smiling at your phone when her texts lit up your screen at midnight: Still awake? You should be sleeping. Come outside, I brought tteokbokki.
You found yourself memorizing the way she whispered your name, the way her laughter softened when it was just the two of you.
And yet, guilt clung to the edges.
Every time you saw Heesung slide his arm around her at group hangouts, your chest tightened. Every time her phone buzzed with his name and she shoved it face-down, pretending not to see, your stomach churned.
But when it was just you and her, in quiet corners, in borrowed minutes, in the spaces no one else could touch. Those shadows disappeared.
Because in those moments, it felt like she was yours.
The sleepover wasn’t optional.
Ryujin made sure of that, leaning across the cafeteria table with the authority of a general. “Friday. My place. We’re ordering too much food, killing too many brain cells with alcohol, and no one’s allowed to say they’re busy. Especially you.”
She stabbed a finger in your direction.
You blinked at her, caught mid-bite of your sandwich. “I—”
“Don’t even start,” she cut you off. “You’ve been living in the studio. You smell like glue and tracing paper.”
“Cardboard with good grades,” Yeji added, sipping her iced coffee with a grin.
Your eye twitched. You wanted to argue, to pull the architecture-student workload card, but your friends’ determined expressions said it all. You were going.
And so Friday night, you found yourself standing outside Ryujin’s apartment, arms full of chips and soda, wondering how the hell you’d been talked into this.
The place was already loud when you stepped inside.
Music hummed from a speaker in the corner, Yuna was sprawled on the couch in pajama shorts, and Ryujin was fussing with a stack of blankets on the floor. Half-empty pizza boxes littered the table, the smell of grease mixing with microwave popcorn.
It was warm. Too warm.
And then Karina walked in from the kitchen, hair tied up, oversized shirt falling off one shoulder like it belonged there. She carried two bowls of ramen, casually handing one to Ningning before her eyes caught yours.
For a second, she smiled. Small. Private. As if there was something only the two of you understood.
Your stomach flipped.
You ducked your head and busied yourself with the soda bottles.
The night unfolded in messy fragments.
Ningning insisted on karaoke, screeching her way through old pop songs until Ryujin begged her to stop. Yuna tried painting everyone’s nails, managing to spill half a bottle of polish on the rug. Karina—ever the composed one—ended up cleaning the mess, crouched on the floor with tissues while the rest of you laughed.
The room felt light, easy, threaded with the kind of chaos that only came with college friends who’d known each other too long.
But every time you laughed too loud, you caught Karina watching. Every time you shifted on the couch, her gaze lingered for a fraction too long.
You tried to ignore it. Tried to remind yourself of her boyfriend, of the rules you’d set in your head. But it was hard when the air between you buzzed like static.
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
By midnight, the party energy mellowed into quiet conversations and half-dozing bodies. Yuna fell asleep hugging a pillow. Ningning was scrolling on her phone, humming to herself. Ryujin had disappeared into her bedroom, claiming her bed before anyone else could.
Which left the living room.
The couch was full, the floor crowded with blankets. And when you turned to claim a spot. Karina was already there, laying one out beside her own.
“Here,” she said softly, patting the space. “Before Yuna rolls off and takes it.”
You hesitated. Every instinct screamed to choose the other side of the room. But the floor was a minefield of limbs and pillows, and Karina’s gaze, calm, patient. made it impossible to refuse.
So you lay down. On your side. Back to her. Distance carefully measured.
Still, the space shrank as soon as the blanket fell over both of you.
Silence settled. The soft hum of the air conditioner, the occasional sigh from someone asleep. You tried to slow your breathing, pretending you were already gone too.
And then her fingers brushed yours under the blanket.
Not by accident.
You froze, pulse spiking.
She didn’t move away. Instead, her hand hovered, tentative, waiting.
“Are you awake?” she whispered.
Your throat tightened. “…Yeah.”
Her fingers shifted, sliding against yours. Not quite holding, not quite innocent. “Sorry. I just—” She stopped. Exhaled. “Forget it.”
You should’ve pulled away. You didn’t.
Instead, your hand twitched, the smallest movement. Enough. She took it as permission, her fingers lacing with yours. It was ridiculous how much heat that simple touch carried.
Minutes passed like that. Neither of you speaking, hands locked beneath the blanket while the room around you breathed in unison.
Eventually, she leaned closer. You felt the brush of her hair against your shoulder, the warmth of her breath.
“You’re impossible to ignore,” she murmured.
Your chest tightened. “Karina—”
“I’m not asking for anything,” she cut in, voice barely audible. “I just… like being here. With you.”
It should’ve made you angry. Or at least cautious. But instead, you found yourself turning slightly, just enough to see her face in the dim glow of the streetlight filtering through the curtains.
Her expression was unguarded. Not the polished campus queen, not Heesung’s perfect girlfriend. Just Karina, whispering into the dark.
Something inside you caved.
You leaned forward before you could stop yourself, lips brushing hers. A soft, fleeting kiss. Too quick to mean anything, too heavy to mean nothing.
When you pulled back, your pulse was in your throat. “We shouldn’t.”
Karina smiled faintly, sadness flickering in her eyes. “Maybe. But you did.” And in the silence that followed, neither of you let go of the other’s hand.
The first sliver of morning light filtered through the half-drawn curtains of your dorm room, spilling across the messy floor scattered with empty bottles, plastic cups, and half-opened bags of chips. The muffled snores of your friends filled the room, along with the occasional groan of someone shifting on the couch or the floor.
But the softest sound was the steady rhythm of Karina’s breathing, warm against your shoulder.
You blinked awake slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim gold of dawn. Your body was heavy, pleasantly sore in ways you didn’t want to think too hard about just yet. The sheets were tangled, clinging to bare skin. You shifted slightly and froze when you felt the undeniable press of Karina’s arm locked around your waist, her fingers curled like she was holding you in her sleep.
Your heart stuttered.
The memories were fuzzy, blurred by drinks and laughter and the late-night haze that had carried the two of you somewhere you’d never imagined going. But one look at the way her dark hair spilled across your pillow, her lips parted slightly, the faint mark you could just see on the slope of her neck, yeah, you didn’t need the details to know what had happened.
And you were completely naked under the blanket.
Panic fluttered up your throat.
Before you could even think of how to move, the door creaked open.
“…Y/N?” Ryujin’s voice was groggy, her footsteps dragging as she peeked inside. Probably looking for water or aspirin.
She stopped dead.
You swear you saw the exact second her eyes widened, her whole body locking like a deer in headlights. Her gaze darted from your messy hair to Karina curled into you, both of your bare shoulders peeking out of the blanket.
You felt heat flood your face instantly.
“Ryujin—!” you whispered in alarm, jerking upright and almost pulling the blanket with you before remembering your state. You yanked it back down quickly, clutching it to your chest.
Karina stirred at the sudden movement, mumbling something incoherent, her arm tightening around your waist as if she sensed you trying to get away.
Ryujin slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes enormous. Then, after a beat of silence, she slowly backed out of the room without a word, closing the door as carefully as if she were defusing a bomb.
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered under your breath, burying your face in your hands.
Karina groaned softly beside you, voice still husky with sleep. “What’s wrong?”
You peeked at her, and your stomach flipped at the sight. Karina, bare-faced, sleepy-eyed, voice thick with morning rasp, hair falling into her face. Too domestic. Too intimate.
“Ryujin just—she saw us,” you whispered, mortified.
Karina blinked, the words sinking in, then—shockingly—she smiled. A soft, lazy smile, the kind that reached her eyes. “So?”
“So?!” you hissed, hitting her shoulder lightly. “We’re naked! She—she saw us, Karina!”
Karina only shrugged, still half-asleep but looking annoyingly unbothered. “It’s not like she walked in on us doing something. We’re just… sleeping.”
You groaned, dragging the blanket higher over your face, wishing the earth would swallow you whole. “You don’t get it. She’s gonna tell everyone. My friends. Your friends. Everyone!”
“She won’t,” Karina said firmly, tugging the blanket down to see your face. “Trust me.”
You frowned, skeptical. “And how exactly do you know that?”
Karina smirked faintly. “Because Ryujin likes you too much to embarrass you like that. Besides, even if they find out…” Her voice softened, surprising you. “I don’t really care.”
The way she said it made your chest ache. You looked away quickly, refusing to let yourself melt under her gaze.
Moments later, you could hear muffled whispers and stifled giggles outside the door, your friends had definitely been filled in by Ryujin. The thought made your stomach knot even more.
You buried your face in the pillow with a muffled groan. “I’m never leaving this room again.”
Karina chuckled, her fingers brushing against your hair. “Relax. They’ll tease you a little, but that’s it.”
“That’s it?” you snapped, sitting up again. “Do you even know how much they’re gonna drag me for this? They’ve been suspicious for weeks, Karina! Weeks! And now—”
You cut yourself off when she leaned forward suddenly, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.
The world stilled.
“W-What are you doing?” you stammered, wide-eyed.
Karina tilted her head, her smile maddeningly gentle. “Calming you down. Is it working?”
You sputtered, grabbing the blanket tighter. “N-No! Stop trying to distract me—”
Another kiss, this time at the corner of your mouth.
Your pulse thundered in your ears.
“Karina-,” you warned, but it came out weaker than you intended.
“Jimin” she whispered,’ “w-what?..”
She leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. “My real name is Jimin and stop looking so kissable in the morning.”
Your breath caught.
For a moment, everything else, the whispers outside, your panic, your embarrassment, faded. It was just her and you, too close under warm sheets, hearts beating a little too fast.
You swallowed hard, cheeks blazing. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” she murmured, lips brushing against yours this time, “you’re still here.”
The blanket slipped slightly as you gave in, eyes fluttering shut as her mouth finally claimed yours in a slow, unhurried kiss.
It was nothing like the hazy, desperate blur of last night. This was tender, careful, almost reverent. And it scared you more than anything else, because it felt like something real.
When you pulled back at last, your forehead still resting against hers, you whispered, “We’re in so much trouble.”
Karina- No. Jimin grinned, eyes sparkling. “Then let’s be in trouble together.”
The rest of the morning blurred into a quiet montage.
Sneaking out of bed, both of you scrambling to find clothes scattered across the room while muffled giggles echoed outside the door. Sharing shy smiles when your hands brushed as you tugged on your shirt. Jimin stealing another kiss when you tried to fix your hair in the mirror, whispering that you looked beautiful anyway.
By the time you stepped out to join the others, your friends were way too quiet, exchanging looks, poorly hiding their smirks. But no one said a word. Just laughter, food, and the lingering warmth of a secret only you and Jimin shared.
And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind it as much as you thought you would.
The secrets had grown sweeter in the days that followed.
You didn’t mean for them to—really, you told yourself that each kiss stolen in the dark was the last one. Each late-night walk where her fingers brushed yours was a mistake you’d promised not to repeat. And yet, here you were again: Jimin in your room, sprawled on your bed like she belonged there, one of your pillows hugged to her chest, her long hair spilling across your sheets.
The lamplight painted her face gold. She looked softer like this, stripped of the easy perfection everyone else saw.
“You know,” she murmured, idly tugging at a loose thread on your blanket, “we’re gonna have to tell them eventually.”
You were sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, pretending to focus on the notes in your lap. But your pen had stilled halfway through a word.
“Tell who?” you asked, though you knew.
“Our friends.” She glanced up at you, eyes gleaming. “About us.”
You swallowed. “Us?”
She smiled faintly. “You and me. Whatever this is.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile. You fiddled with your pen cap, heart thrumming
“It’s not that easy, …Jimin,” you muttered. “You have… you know. A boyfriend.”
Her expression flickered, just for a second. But then she was moving, crawling across the mattress until she was close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off her.
“You think about that too much,” she whispered, brushing her nose against your temple.
Your chest tightened. “It’s not just a thought. It’s real. He’s real. And you’re—”
Her lips cut you off, soft and certain. It wasn’t desperate like before, not heavy with alcohol or adrenaline. This was deliberate. Tender. Like she was trying to press reassurance into your skin.
When she pulled back, she murmured, “I only want you like this. Doesn’t that count for something?”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
So instead, you let her pull you down, both of you collapsing into the pillows, laughter muffled by kisses. And for that night, for that sliver of time, you let yourself believe her.
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
But the week that followed carved at you in ways you weren’t prepared for.
Jimin was still warm with you in private, still stealing moments in hallways and exchanging quick messages between classes. But in public… she was everywhere with Heesung.
His hand heavy on her shoulder. Her laughing at something he said, bright and perfect, the way everyone expected her to. The way that made them look like the picture-perfect couple.
And the more you saw it, the smaller you felt.
So you threw yourself into your café shifts, working double if they asked, even triple when you could. Anything to avoid the gnawing ache of seeing her with him.
Until Yeji yanked your apron off one Friday evening and shoved your jacket into your arms.
“You’re coming with us. Don’t argue.”
“What now?” you sighed.
“Intramurals. Everyone’s there. It’s tradition. You’re not skipping.”
Ten minutes later, you were swallowed by the roar of SNU’s gymnasium, crammed onto the bleachers with your roommates. Banners waved. Chants echoed. Students stomped their feet, the entire place pulsing with excitement.
You folded your arms tightly across your chest, already wishing you’d stayed home.
And then the players entered.
Heesung jogged out with his team, tall and confident, grinning at the crowd. The cheers were deafening, especially when the girlfriends followed.
Jimin among them.
She looked flawless, of course. Clapping, smiling, her hair shining under the stadium lights. When Heesung passed her, she leaned up and whispered something to him, her hand brushing his arm. He laughed, the crowd cheering louder at the sight.
“Campus couple goals!” someone yelled from the row behind you. The section erupted in approval.
Your throat closed.
You forced yourself to look away, eyes fixed stubbornly on the scoreboard though you couldn’t read a single number. Every cheer felt like a knife. Every laugh felt like proof you’d been foolish to believe anything whispered in the dark.
Yeji’s gaze slid to you. Ryujin’s too. Neither said a word, but you could feel their quiet worry in the way they shifted closer.
“Don’t,” you whispered, jaw tight. “Just don’t.”
They didn’t.
The game was only ten minutes in, but the crowd already sounded like it was finals. Sneakers squeaked, the ball thudded against the floor, and every time Heesung touched it, the cheers swelled louder.
You sat stiffly, your arms folded across your chest, pretending to focus on the court when really you were just trying not to look two rows down where Jimin sat with the other girlfriends.
Behind you, a group of students leaned forward, their voices carrying easily over the noise.
“Damn, Heesung’s insane today. Did you see that drive? He makes it look effortless.”
“I know, right? No wonder the whole campus worships him. And with Karina cheering for him? They’re like… unreal.”
“They’re perfect together. He’s the star, she’s the prettiest girl on campus. Total power couple.”
“Honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up marrying after graduation.”
Your jaw clenched.
The words burrowed into you, each one landing heavier than the last. You tried to block them out, your eyes glued to the scoreboard though the numbers swam uselessly.
Another laugh from the row behind.
“Look at her—she’s wearing his jacket already. God, they fit so well. Makes everyone else look like background characters.”
Your stomach twisted.
You risked a glance down, just for a second, and there she was—Jimin leaning forward, clapping when Heesung scored, her smile bright and wide.
And in that moment, you felt it, the pull of a secret that was suddenly so small against the weight of how perfect they looked in the open.
Yeji nudged you lightly, maybe sensing the way your shoulders had gone rigid. She didn’t say anything, though. Neither did Ryujin. But you knew they’d heard too.
You swallowed hard, eyes darting back to the court, forcing yourself to clap when everyone else did, even though your hands felt numb.
Because if you stopped, if you let the silence show on your face, everyone around you would know.
And you couldn’t afford that.
──── ────୨ৎ──── ────
After the game, the crowd spilled into the parking lot, buzzing with leftover energy. You kept your head down, hands shoved in your pockets, following your friends toward the exit. You hadn’t said a word since the first whistle blew, and they hadn’t pushed.
You thought you’d make it out without incident.
Until you saw them.
Heesung leaning casually against a car, sweat still glistening on his temples. And Jimin right beside him, his jersey draped over her shoulders. Too big on her frame, but fitting in all the ways that mattered.
She was laughing at something he said, tucking her hair behind her ear. He nudged her playfully. She shoved him back, eyes gleaming.
The scene was perfect. Too perfect.
You froze, your chest splintering.
Jimin’s head turned, as if she felt your stare. And for one suspended second, her eyes locked with yours across the crowd.
Surprise flickered across her face. And something else you couldn’t name.
But you didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Your vision blurred, tears prickling before you could stop them.
“Y/N,” Yeji murmured, stepping closer, her hand brushing your arm. “Don’t.”
“Come on,” Ryujin added softly, her voice steady. “Look away. Just… let it go.”
Your eyes stayed locked on Jimin’s until the blur won, until you had no choice but to blink hard and drop your gaze to the pavement. You didn’t say a word as your friends gently guided you away, the roar of laughter and cheers fading behind you.
And Jimin, still standing there in his jersey. Watched you disappear into the crowd, her expression unreadable.
“i got what you need, i’m thinking you should plant this seed.”
synopsis. karina meets your family for the first time at one of those loud, messy cookouts where everyone’s talking over each other and no one’s sitting still. she’s nervous at first, trying to keep it together but slowly, she shows a side of herself you hadn’t seen before.
pairing. mean!sorority!karina x loser!gp!reader
warning(s). 18+ (smut), readers got a big ah family tree, g!p reader, p in v (unprotected), pet names (puppy & baby), reader is uhh down horrendous…wait they both are </3, breeding kink, dom!karina, overstimulation 🥀, and let me know if there’s more.
word count. 6.4k+
authors note. welp here it is and yea so im sorry anon who requested this. i tried to cook… 🥀 this is like when you ask for lays from the store and they give u the great value version..
campus was a far trip from home.
three hours by car, longer if you hit traffic. long enough for your stomach to tie itself into knots and your brain to start feeding you worst-case scenarios like a playlist on loop. long enough for karina to cycle through three moods: dismissive, annoyed, and now completely silent.
she hadn't said a word since the second toll booth.
you glanced over at her. she was curled slightly against the window, legs pulled up, arms crossed, sunglasses still on despite the clouds. she looked like she was heading to court, not to meet your mother.
"want music?" you offered, eyes flicking toward the aux cord.
"no."
"podcasts?"
"god, no."
you bit back a smile. "conversation?"
that earned you a slow, lethal look.
you held up a hand.
then you cleared your throat.
it was a mistake. you could feel it even before she turned her head back and fixed her stare on the road ahead of you, but her foot was still bouncing—heel tapping a steady rhythm against the edge of the seat, the same three-count beat over and over again and the tension in her jaw was so tight it looked like her teeth were grinding together.
she didn't say anything, didn't give you a glare, didn't sigh, and didn't roll her eyes.
she just stared at the road, jaw clenched, and tapped her foot.
tap. tap. tap.
you knew her well enough by now to recognize the signs.
karina wasn't someone who panicked out loud. but when her anxiety reared its ugly head, it showed itself in all kinds of quieter ways: she got more fidgety and less talkative, and her body language was always off—she stood farther away, kept her arms close, and sometimes she wouldn't look you in the eye.
right now, her heel was bouncing so hard against your seat it felt like a warning bell.
"i can turn around," you offered lightly.
she didn't blink. "don't tease me like that."
"i'm serious. we can fake a tire blowout. park under a bridge. say we got abducted."
she finally—finally—cracked the tiniest smile.
it was barely there, barely noticeable, and you would have missed it if you didn't know her and you would've missed it if you didn't know her so well. but you did. you knew that twitch in the corner of her mouth wasn't nothing. that it meant something got through.
you softened a little. "they're gonna love you, you know."
she let out a low, unbelieving breath.
"they will," you insisted. "you're—"
"i'm mean," she cut in.
you snorted. "you're not mean."
she turned her head just enough to raise an eyebrow at you over her sunglasses.
"okay," you allowed. "you're, like, medium mean. with a heart of gold. a crunchy exterior. caramel center."
"i hope they hate me."
"you don't."
"i do. it'd make this so much easier."
you didn't say anything. she didn't look at you. her sunglasses had slid down her nose just slightly, and you could see the tiny crease forming between her eyebrows—the one that only showed up when she was thinking too hard.
you pulled one hand off the steering wheel and reached for her knee, giving it a little squeeze. "you don't have to impress anyone."
she was quiet for a second. then she let out a low, humorless laugh.
and said, simply, quietly:
"i want to."
it was a loaded sentence.
and, honestly, you weren't quite sure how to respond.
the karina you knew had never cared about what other people thought. she had no use for them. other people were either useful to her or they weren't—there was no middle ground, and there was no need to try and impress. not classmates. not the girls in her sorority who half-feared and half-worshipped her. definitely not the people she used to flirt with before she was your girlfriend.
and definitely not you—not at first, anyway.
but now?
now she wanted to impress your family.
she wanted to impress your mother, your loud cousins, your overprotective aunties, and your father who never knows when to stop talking.
she wanted to walk into your childhood home and be met with approval. she didn't want to be tolerated, and she didn't want to be judged. she wanted to walk into the room and hear your family whisper compliments about her behind their hands.
and, maybe, more importantly—she wanted to give you a reason to be proud.
you let the silence stretch for a moment.
then you nudged her again, thumb brushing across her knee. "you're kind of a mess right now."
"i'm aware."
"they're not royalty. it's not a coronation."
"they're your family."
"so?"
"so," she said, finally looking at you again, "they made you. and i... i love you, so—"
she paused, jaw tightening again like she regretted how easily it came out.
"so if they don't like me, i'll take it personally," she finished.
you blinked. stared at her for a second too long.
she looked away first.
and just like that, the highway noise got swallowed up by something louder inside your chest.
the same feeling had been building ever since karina answered your phone in the shower.
you'd been rinsing out conditioner, blinking through soap in your eyes, and reaching blindly for the showerhead in karina's shower, the one that had a knob that switched the water from a gentle stream to a powerful spray.
final fantasy vii was paused on her tv because you'd been playing barefoot on the floor until she'd kicked you toward the bathroom with a towel and a pointed, "you actually smell like a puppy." your ego was bruised.
she was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed now, methodically folding laundry like she was in a boot camp for the domestically gifted. she had your hoodie in her lap and a pile of unmatched socks beside her, all while your phone sat forgotten on the comforter.
until it lit up.
she glanced over. saw the name:
BIG HOMIE FROM THE TAX BRACKET ABOVE.
and—understandably—assumed it was mason.
"...of course," she muttered. "of course he would call while you're in the shower."
karina stood up from the bed, feet bare against the hardwood, and padded into the bathroom like she owned the place.
(which, let's be honest—she kind of did.)
"big homie is calling you!" she yelled out, slightly rolling her eyes.
she didn't hesitate to answer. swiped before the third ring finished, already opening her mouth to tell mason off, because what the hell kind of contact name is big homie from the tax bracket above anyway?
"don't answer it!" you yelled back. "i'll call him later—just leave it!"
but she was two seconds into the call. "hello?"
"who the hell is this?"
she blinked. paused. one hand on the doorframe, phone to her ear. "...excuse me?"
"you're not y/n."
"no," karina said slowly, narrowing her eyes. "but i'm her girlfriend. who is this?"
three seconds passed.
"i'm her dad."
you pushed the curtain aside, heart thudding. "karina?"
no answer.
"...karina—did you really answer?!"
karina was standing completely still, her hand white-knuckled on the door frame.
"girlfriend?" your dad repeated, voice muffled but confused. "wait—hold on. as in, you're an actual person. a girlfriend. a girl no space friend. like, you're here. on earth."
karina blinked. "...yes?" she replied, mouth twitching because she was trying so hard not to laugh.
there was a pause.
"...you're not paid, are you?"
and that's how your dad found out you had a girlfriend. the rest of the story blurred after that. you'd blacked out from secondhand panic by the time she passed you the phone. and later, your parents texted you about a "small, casual cookout" they were organizing, which was code for a full-blown social event with matching t-shirts and a dessert table.
you hadn't asked her to come... yet. not even after she'd smiled and said, "your dad sounds funny," like it wasn't the most mortifying moment of your entire adult life.
but the text sat in your inbox anyway, taunting you every time you opened your phone: [BIG HOMIE FROM THE TAX BRACKET ABOVE]: Don't forget to rsvp for the cookout 😁 Bring your lady if she's real 😎
which is why, three days later, you were sitting at the edge of the counter in the sorority's house shared kitchen, watching karina rinse strawberries as if your mind wasn't spiraling over a simple question.
her hair was clipped up. she wore one of your crewnecks, sleeves pushed past her elbows, and every now and then she'd hum under her breath, bob her head, or shuffle her feet.
you let out a slow breath. "...rina."
"hmm?"
"i, uh—" you scratched the back of your neck. "my parents are having this dumb cookout thing. very wholesome. lots of potato salad. matching shirts. you know."
she plucked a berry from the colander and took a bite. "mhm."
"i wasn't gonna go," you added quickly. "i usually don't. it's kind of—" you waved vaguely. "a thing."
another strawberry. another bite, which caused you to forget your point. her eyebrow rose.
you cleared your throat.
she smiled.
yeah, you were whipped.
"...you want me to come?" she asked, tilting her head.
your face went warm. "only if you want to."
her expression shifted slightly, a little softer. she reached over and tapped a strawberry against your mouth.
you leaned forward and bit down.
she pulled her hand away and said, casually, almost dismissively, "i'd go if i were invited."
so, yeah.
that's how you ended up here, two hours from home with a tense girlfriend and a heart that wouldn't stop fluttering. and a minute later, you were pulling into the driveway of your childhood home.
"i'm going to throw up," she told you.
"no, you're not."
"i am."
"rina," you said gently, "they're just normal people."
"i'm not worried about them," she snapped. "i'm worried about me. i didn't even bring a gift."
"it's not a dinner party," you snorted. "it's a backyard cookout. you don't need a gift. besides, my family doesn't even like gifts. we're weird. my aunties will think you're crazy for bringing something."
karina was staring at the house. there were a lot of cars surrounding the driveway and lining the curb. you knew your mother had gone a little overboard with the party prep, but you didn't realize she'd invited the entire family tree.
"this is a small get-together?"
"well..." you shrugged. "my mom gets excited."
she let out a shaky breath, but she still followed you up the driveway. still reached for your hand the second you rang the bell.
the door opened before you even knocked.
"there they are!"
a wave of noise hit you like a brick wall. the smell of grilled meat, citronella candles, and some kind of peach-flavored wine cooler clung to the air. there were balloons and streamers everywhere, and as soon as you stepped inside, the noise seemed to swallow you whole.
before you could say a word, someone was pulling you into a hug. "look at you! my baby! i thought you were gonna skip again, i told your mother—oh hellooo, who is this?"
karina froze.
one of your aunts (you couldn't remember which one—gold hoops, big hair, smells like a church) was suddenly holding her shoulders and giving her the same once-over a cop might give a suspect.
"and she's pretty, too, huh?" she said, looking karina up and down. "is this the one who answered your daddy's call? 'cause he said she sounded classy."
you saw karina's soul leave her body.
"she is classy," you said, arm wrapping firmly around her waist. she immediately leaned into you because right now gravity wasn't working unless she had at least three points of contact. "this is karina."
karina gave the most polite, most strained, most pageant-ready smile you'd ever seen. "hi."
more aunties emerged. more hugging. a high-pitched shriek from the back—definitely your cousin jasmine. you heard someone yell, "you brought your girlfriend?!" like it was breaking news. which is fair because she's the first girl you've ever brought home, but the sheer amount of attention made you feel like an exhibit at the zoo.
karina's grip tightened.
"you okay?" you asked under your breath.
she nodded quickly. then lied. "i'm great."
further inside the house was worse. people filled every hallway, couch cushion, and stair step. the kitchen table was covered in tin foil pans. a child ran past you in a superhero cape. someone yelled "catch it" from the bathroom, followed by the sound of a loud thump. a toddler began crying, and someone was blasting music outside on the deck.
and through it all, she clung to your side like a lifeline. fingers in your belt loop, palm at your lower back. she didn't laugh at any jokes. she barely spoke. but her eyes scanned everything, tracking every new relative, cataloging the entire house.
she was trying. you could see it.
and then your mom appeared, holding a stack of paper plates.
"hey, sweetheart—can you help me run these out to the deck? and your dad needs you to check the propane. he swears it's full, but i don't trust that man with anything that requires a tank."
you glanced at karina. her face said, please don't leave me alone. her hand did not move.
but your aunt swooped in with terrifying precision. "i'll take her. come on, baby, you ever had peach cobbler? you're about to."
karina looked betrayed.
"i'll be right outside," you promised. you leaned in. "just relax, okay? they love you already."
she nodded once. still didn't let go until your mom physically pulled you by the wrist. "you can flirt with your little friend later," she muttered.
you shot one last look at karina—being shepherded into the living room like a foreign diplomat. she turned, lips slightly parted like she wanted to say something, but all she managed was a look.
and then you were outside.
the deck was a mess, and it was extremely hot. the grill was roaring, kids were screaming in the bouncy house, and your dad was swearing at a spatula.
"'bout time," he said when he saw you. "tell your mom the propane was full. she owes me twenty bucks."
you helped him flip burgers while trying to keep karina in your peripheral, but the crowd was thick, and your mom was assigning tasks like she was the director of an action movie.
after a few minutes, you finally managed to break free. you headed toward the living room, but karina was nowhere near the couch. you checked the kitchen, the hallway, and the garage, and then you finally saw her in the front yard—with the kids.
karina was seated cross-legged on the grass, surrounded by six of your tiny cousins. one hand deftly weaving through a thick ponytail while her other arm was wrapped around the kid in her lap, who was showing her some animated youtube video at full volume.
"that's not a real dragon," karina muttered.
the kid gasped, scandalized. "yes, it is!"
"it has sunglasses and a fanny pack."
"he goes to the beach," the kid defended.
karina didn't flinch. "dragons can't go to the beach."
then, from behind the bouncy house:
"oh my god. is she doing their hair?" you glanced over and saw your cousin tanya standing next to you, beer in hand, staring in awe. "that's cute," she said, nodding her head. "damn."
you couldn't help but smile.
a different cousin cackled. "you're funny. are you gonna marry our cousin?"
karina blinked. "what?"
"you said you were y/n/n's girlfriend," the one in her lap said, poking her cheek. "that means you're gonna get married."
she cleared her throat. "that's not how it works."
"yes, it is," the first one insisted. "that's what my mom said when she made uncle brian bring his lady friend to thanksgiving."
karina shot them a look. "you have a booger in your nose."
they paused. scowled. "do not."
"you do."
"liar."
karina was still arguing with your cousin about hygiene when you walked over, hands in your pockets. karina didn't look up, but the kid did.
"y/n, look," they said, pointing, "this lady said i have a booger."
"because you do," karina shot back.
you knelt down next to them, brushing your fingers gently over the kid's forehead as you looked them straight in the eye. "okay. let's get to the bottom of this. chin up."
they pouted but obeyed, sniffling exaggeratedly as they tilted their head back. you squinted. "i hate to say it, buddy, but... there might be a booger."
their jaw dropped. "tú también, y/n?!"
you laughed, reaching over to tickle their ribs. the kid let out a shriek of laughter and wiggled out of karina's lap, scurrying back to the bouncy house, the rest of them following.
"traitor!" they shouted, voice carrying over the crowd.
you grinned.
then, a little more quietly, you asked:
"how are you doing?"
karina's face was flushed, and the way she looked up at you with her sunglasses pushed on top of her head, a smile on her face, and hair falling in her eyes was so soft and so gentle and so different from the girl you met two years ago.
you wanted to kiss her.
"i'm doing great," she replied, and she meant it. you helped her up. wiped the grass off her jeans, "you're good with kids."
"i was arguing with them."
you scoffed. wrapped your arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, kissed her temple. "yeah," you muttered against her skin. "i saw, but they like you. jj never showed me anything off his tablet, and you got him to share."
"i don't share my stuff either," she said. "i'm very territorial."
"i know."
she tilted her head. looked at you. "...thank you for bringing me."
you smiled.
"thank you for coming."
then, like clockwork, your aunt's voice rang through the house again. "y/n, i swear if you don't come grab this extra bag of ice—"
you groaned. "they're everywhere."
karina glanced at the kid now fully sprawled across her lap and sighed. "you go. i'll be okay."
you nodded and let go, backing away, one foot after the other, but as you glanced back one last time, you saw it—karina, finally letting herself relax as the kids started to play a game involving chasing each other with bubble guns, one of them dragging her along like she was a prized possession.
after another ten minutes of labor for your family, you finally peeled yourself away from the endless shuffle when things settled just a bit and no one was watching.
quiet footsteps on the porch creaked beneath you as you rounded the corner, scanning for her.
there, on the shaded steps, your eyes caught a softer scene. karina was crouched down beside the porch steps, cradling your baby niece against her chest. the little one's eyes were fluttering shut, her tiny fingers curling around a loose strand of karina's hair.
karina's expression had shifted entirely—gone was the mischievous smirk and playful teasing. instead, she was quiet and gentle, humming a soft, almost imperceptible tune as she rocked the baby lightly back and forth.
you froze for a moment, watching her like you'd stumbled on a secret. it was the kind of tenderness you hadn't expected from her—not the sharp-tongued, quick-witted karina you knew, but something softer, something real.
karina glanced up and caught your gaze, her lips curving into a shy, almost sheepish smile. "she fell asleep on me," she whispered, voice low and warm.
you smiled back. and that was the first time you thought, oh. this is dangerous.
it was dark when the party finally started to wind down.
everyone had gone home, including your aunts and uncles and cousins and nephews. your mom and dad had disappeared too, probably someone's ride, leaving behind a few plastic trays of half-eaten dessert and a cooler full of slowly melting ice.
the guest room was quiet. a quiet you had missed and you'd be robbed of all day. karina was already on the bed, sitting in the middle of it in one of your old high school shirts and a pair of sweatshorts, scrolling through photos she'd been secretly taking on her phone all afternoon.
she looked up as you set a water bottle down on the nightstand. "you left me for, like, an hour," she whispered.
you climbed onto the bed, knees pressing into the mattress. "you braided like six kids' hair in that time."
"yeah. my fingers hurt."
you sat in front of her before tugging your hoodie off. "you didn't have to entertain them that long."
"i didn't," she said, like it was obvious. "they kidnapped me. one of them threatened to cry if i moved."
you laughed, rubbing your hands over your face. "you didn't look like you hated it." and you also held a baby like it was second nature, so now i'm even more whipped than i was before. if that's possible.
karina set her phone down on the nightstand before scooting closer to you.
you dropped your gaze. her fingers were playing with the hem of your shirt now, slipping underneath, cool against your skin. you looked back up at her, watching her carefully.
you kept your mouth shut, but your brain didn't stop. you're perfect. you're like wife material. my family is weird. but they liked you. you're kind. you're funny. i'm in love with you.
you bit your lip.
she smiled.
and said, voice low, eyes dark: "i like it when they call me your girlfriend."
your breath caught.
"...yeah?"
she nodded. leaned in. her mouth hovered a millimeter away from yours.
"i really like it."
her hand slid higher.
it wasn't a surprise when she kissed you, soft and slow and deep. she was smiling against your lips, and you could taste the punch from earlier on her tongue. you kissed her back, hands sliding to her hips, tugging her closer.
she pressed and leaned backwards until she was lying down before pulling you on top of her, legs wrapped around your waist, arms wrapping around your neck.
she hummed.
kissing you again even harder.
then, in the most soothing voice: "been thinking about you all day."
"karina—"
"mm?"
"we're—my parents—"
"are gone," she finished. "they're not coming back until later."
"i know, but i'm trying to be a good houseguest."
she let out a breathless laugh. "and you were so good earlier." she nipped your lower lip, her hands moving to cup your cheeks, thumbs stroking lightly.
then, with a little more force, she murmured, "but right now i need you be a bad houseguest for me. please, puppy?"
your stomach dropped. your pulse throbbed behind your ribs, and all of your good intentions melted.
she moaned into your mouth, pulling you in by the neck, legs hitching up around your waist. you settled between her thighs, one hand bracing yourself on the mattress, the other sliding down her body, gripping her hip. "you're such a bad influence," you breathed.
"mm," she hummed. "whatever."
"karina..." you whispered against her jaw, trailing down, lips brushing along her throat. you sucked gently, just enough to make her moan.
you felt her fingers tighten against the nape of your neck. she tilted her head back, eyes closing, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
"puppy—just, god, go lower." she breathed, tilting her head back, moving your head down towards her chest.
you obeyed instantly, lifting the hem of her shirt just enough to mouth at the soft skin of her chest. she wasn't wearing a bra—of course she wasn't, there was no need to be when she was supposed to be asleep.
your lips parted over her breast, tongue dragging slowly and warmly across her skin before you sucked at her nipple, gently at first, then harder when her breath hitched. you could feel her arching into your touch, could hear the little whimpers she was trying to hold back, and see the way her body shifted restlessly against the mattress.
"fuck," she hissed, nails digging into your scalp. "don't stop."
you didn't. you switched to her other breast, kissing messily across her chest, tongue teasing before your mouth closed around her again, sucking until her back arched and her thighs squeezed around your waist.
"shit—" she gasped, half a sob, her hips rolling up into you without thinking. the friction made you moan, low and broken, against her skin.
you ground down against her, rigid and uncoordinated, so desperate for friction your thighs were trembling. her sleep shorts were thin, your sweats were riding low, and it didn't take much to feel her dampening the front of them.
"feels good, doesn't it?" she whispered, breath catching as your teeth grazed her chest again. "you're such a good girl when you're needy."
you whimpered, forehead pressing to her sternum, hips stuttering.
"i c-can't," you choked. "you're—fuck—you're so perfect..."
her hands cradled your face again, thumbing over your flushed cheeks, pulling you up for another kiss.
you didn't even realize how desperate you'd both gotten until your hands were tugging at her shorts, fumbling at the waistband, desperate to feel more of her skin against yours.
she lifted her hips, helping you slide them down her legs, underwear clinging before slipping off too. her skin was hot, and her thighs were wet and trembling. your hands lingered for a second on her thighs—before she was already pulling at your sweats, impatient.
"please," she mumbled, almost annoyed at how slow you were.
and—god, there was no way to deny her, not when her hands were so insistent, not when she was biting her lip like that, not when her legs were spread and she was looking up at you like this, and not when you were already hard to the point it ached, twitching against your stomach as you finally kicked your sweats and boxers off.
your hands went to her thighs, just to steady yourself, fingers digging into her skin. and, well, if the rest of your good intentions melted before, then they were gone now.
you couldn't wait, couldn't do anything but grind against her, your cock sliding against her, slick and hot and desperate. you pressed forward, breath hitching as every inch of you burned to be inside her.
you wanted to say something smart or smooth, but all that came out was a breathy, "oh—fuck, you feel..."
you trailed off. she just looked up at you, lips parted, eyes wide, but not all that smug like you expected—more desperate than anything else. her hands came up to your waist, guiding you closer, pulling you into place, her knees pressing into your sides.
"come on, baby," she urged, hips rolling up, her wetness smearing against your skin. "hurry—"
and then, finally, finally, you slid inside her. it was like a punch to the gut, all the air leaving your lungs, a choked sound breaking in your throat. your eyes fluttered, vision swimming, hips jerking forward, burying yourself to the hilt.
you pulled back just slightly, watching her face, her body, trying to find the tiniest hint of discomfort, but all you found was a flush creeping down her chest and a whimper that sounded a lot like your name.
"good?" you managed, breathless, a little dizzy.
"yes—mhm, yes, just—move."
you nodded once, swallowed, moving slowly at first, shallow and careful. but she was rolling her hips to meet you, hips rising, hands scrambling up your back like she couldn't get you close enough. her mouth parted with no words, but instead just that shaky breath she always gave when she was overwhelmed and wanted more.
and hell, you were trying. you were trying to stay steady, trying to savor it, but you were so keyed up already, so wound up by everything that had happened today. by her. by the way she felt, by the way she looked, by the way she kept breathing your name, by the way she was squeezing around you every time your hips moved—and it was over for you.
you groaned, low and shaky, and pressed forward again, deeper this time. her legs curled tighter around your waist, and her hands flew up to your shoulders, nails dragging just enough to leave heat.
"yeah?" you whispered, voice rough but sweet as you slowed for a second, just to look at her. her hair was messy, cheeks flushed, lips parted—and her eyes, glassy and fixed on yours like you were the only thing tethering her to the planet.
"you're—" she swallowed hard, arching just slightly into you. "you're so good. you're so good to me."
your stomach dropped.
she knew exactly what she was doing. she knew that made your chest ache in a way you didn't have words for. she knew how much you craved her approval, her affection, and her praise, and she knew how to give it to you.
"please," she murmured, softer this time. "puppy, please, don't stop. i need—"
her voice broke off into a whine when you pulled back again and thrust forward harder, burying yourself to the hilt again with a grunt.
"fuck," she gasped. "love you."
your hand came up without thinking, cradling her face with your right, brushing your thumb along the flushed curve of her cheek. her eyes fluttered shut at your touch, turning into it, her mouth brushing your skin before she took your thumb into her mouth.
the sight made you moan, hips stuttering forward again. "fuck," you breathed.
she sucked at your thumb gently, tongue curling underneath the pad of your thumb, eyes opening again just enough to watch your face, her eyes dark and hungry and completely unraveled.
was she trying to drive you insane on purpose? it was working.
she blinked up at you, innocent, but the corners of her mouth turned up as she took your thumb even further into her mouth and hummed.
"karina—"
your voice cracked on her name as you dragged your thumb out of her mouth with a soft, wet pop, trailing the wetness along the edge of her bottom lip. "you're—fuck, you're so beautiful," you murmured.
she hummed, satisfied. "yeah?"
you were too busy watching where you disappeared into her, too busy thinking stupid, reckless things that soon stumbled out of your mouth. "...yeah," you breathed, barely thinking, barely there. "could do this forever."
your voice was low. wrecked. barely yours.
"just want to—fuck—just wanna keep you like this. wanna come inside." you were rambling now, almost babbling, hands tightening on her hips.
and then—like instinct—you moved.
one hand slid behind her knee and pushed up, folding her without a second thought. her thighs pressed against her chest, folding her in half, pushing her down into the mattress with every thrust.
she let out a choked moan, head thrown back, hair spread out over the pillow.
god—she was so pretty. she was always pretty, but here—in your childhood bed, naked and panting in your wrinkled and half-off shirt, her skin flushed and her mouth falling open—she was something else entirely.
"f—fuck." it ripped out of her.
you could barely think. "just wanna—wanna stay right here," you slurred, breath catching. "wanna come inside."
karina's hands scrambled for something to hold onto—the sheets, her own legs, you—and she was trembling, shaking, clenching around you every time you bottomed out.
she liked the angle. that much was obvious.
her legs were pressed up, knees by her shoulders, and she felt everything. her thoughts were completely incoherent except for one:
so close.
so goddamn close that she could cry, could feel herself starting to shake apart, could feel that tension curling tighter and tighter, her orgasm building higher and higher—
"you better mean it," she breathed.
her hips started to move against yours, impatiently, chasing that feeling, that sweet pressure deep inside her, the heat building in her stomach and making her tremble.
"what?"
"you said you wanna come inside—" she broke off with a moan, nails digging into your arm, "—then you better mean it."
you choked on a curse.
her walls fluttered around you, and it pushed you over the edge. your whole body tensed. you buried yourself as deep as you could, stuttering out a moan, your orgasm ripping through you.
you came hard, so hard your vision went white for a second and your muscles tensed and your hands tightened on her thighs hard enough to bruise. just like that—you were spilling inside her.
you didn't even mean to collapse. it just happened—legs gone, arms jelly, chest heaving against hers as you spilled inside with everything you had left.
karina let out a small, frustrated whimper beneath you.
"i was right there," she panted, grinding her hips up against yours. "you couldn't hold it for five more seconds?"
you managed a weak laugh, collapsing back into the sheets, dazed, chest rising and falling like you'd just run ten miles.
you blinked up at the ceiling. your vision was still fuzzy, your muscles were still trembling, your ears were still ringing—and holy shit, you were so tired. karina followed you, eyes dark and frustrated, thighs already coated with your cum.
before you could even roll over, to try and control your heavy breathing and get your heart rate under control karina was already moving, climbing over your leg and settling her weight against your thigh.
she stared down at you with her lip between her teeth, brow furrowed, and hair sticking to her forehead. her hips were rolling slowly against your thigh, and you could feel her, still hot and slick.
you swallowed hard.
"karina," you managed, voice hoarse, "i—i can't—" she huffed, frustrated, and lifted herself just enough to slide her hand down between her legs.
it made your cock twitch.
she let out a shaky breath, eyes flicking down to your lap, then back up. her hand was still between her legs, fingers moving quickly, hips stuttering and her gaze flicked down to your lap, then back to your face.
"you're still hard," she whispered, almost accusing. her voice was soft, but trembling, full of heat. "look at you..."
you couldn't move. your muscles were jelly, your brain fried. literally felt like you just got out the ring with mike tyson.
she bit her lip. "...baby?" her fingers didn't stop. "can i—please? just a little?"
a pause, then quieter: "i'll ride it real slow, promise."
you didn't answer fast enough, and she took it as a yes anyway.
karina reached between you both, fingers wrapping around your half-hard cock, smearing your release over the length of it. she whimpered at the feel, her thumb pressing to the tip, coaxing what she could from it.
you watched her, mesmerized. you couldn't think, couldn't do anything but let her use you.
she lined you up and sank down slowly, taking her time, every movement dragging out the stretch until she was seated fully on your lap. your body barely responding, caught between overstimulation and the sheer heat of her.
she rolls her hips once. extremely slow for the first few seconds, then she starts to pick up the pace. you gasp and try to sit up, hands flying to her waist to steady her, to slow her down, and the other half to beg her not to move just yet.
she leans forward, her palms against your chest, nails digging in as she grinds down into you. "you still with me?" she whispers, breath catching. "or are you too tired now?"
your hands try to guide her hips, a soft "slow down" leaving your mouth.
but karina doesn't listen.
"you feel so good," she breathes, letting her head fall back. "you like it when I use you like this, don't you?"
"karina—wait, wait—"
"mm-mm," she hums, rolling her hips again. "no waiting. wanna come like this, please, puppy, wanna come on your cock, want you to stay inside me all night—"
you let out a broken moan, trying to hold her still, trying to slow her down, trying to stop yourself from going over the edge again already.
she's unrelenting.
she's riding you like she'll die if she stops. the sound of her moaning and her wetness on your skin is enough to make your brain short-circuit and make you lose any restraint you had left.
"here," she says. "you can—do it how you like—" it's an attempt to give you control, placing your hands back on her hips to help, but instead it makes you whine because she just feels so good and it's been so long since you've felt this good.
your lips are parted—eyes dazed, mouth open, hands shaking. you can barely breathe, your lungs burning; the only sound in your ears is karina, whispering your name in between breathless gasps.
she's still moving. she's still talking, still whispering dirty things between kisses that are more bite than anything else. you know she's close—her walls fluttering around you, her moans getting higher and breathier, her movements getting less graceful.
but you're close, too... but you'd be damned if you finished before her. again.
"trying to keep it in?" she taunts softly. "trying to act good now?"
you can't respond. can't do anything but whimper and hold her tight and try to hold on.
she's persistent. she knows what she wants. and she wants to feel you come inside her again, wants to feel you fill her up even more, wants to come all over your cock, and wants to collapse against your chest and not move for hours.
karina feels it—how close you are again, how your body's trembling like it's pleading for release, overstimulated but so, so hopeless.
"karina—'s too much, fuck—can't—"
"yes, you can," she whispers. "you can, puppy, you can. i know you can, just for me, yeah?"
her voice breaks on the next moan, and she grabs their wrists—pinning your hands above your head, forehead pressed together.
"give it to me, baby," she begs, breath hot and uneven. "just one more. please. fill me up again."
you choke on a sound. you're trying so hard to not, to hold back just a second longer, but her hips roll again and—
"wanna feel you dripping out of me in the morning," she mumbles, barely audible. "wanna still be full when i wake up—"
you arch up hard—shaking, stuttering, teeth clenched so tight it hurts. your second release hits like a wave, full-body and dragging, leaving them gasping, mind white noise and useless.
karina cries at the feeling—utterly undone now too, head thrown back, body twitching on top of you. she doesn't even let them go yet, hands still pinning theirs down, rolling her hips even slower as she rides out her orgasm.
when she finally lets go, her arms are trembling, and you can see the effort it takes for her to not just collapse against your chest. she does anyway—carefully, slowly, trying not to crush you as she lets herself rest against you. her face burrows into the crook of your neck, breathing unsteadily.
"mmph," she slurs, lips brushing your collarbone. "so good. fuck. mine."
your fingers twitch weakly at her hips, but you've gone boneless—completely, blissfully ruined. your throat is hoarse from moaning, your vision is still spotty, and your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your ears.
"i love you," you whisper, voice barely above a breath.
she hums again, sleepily this time, her hand sliding up your chest to settle over your heart.
"i know," she murmurs, smiling into your skin. "i love you too. always."
she touches your cheek, brushing damp hair from your forehead. her fingers tremble, but she's smiling.
"so in love with you," she murmurs, eyes fluttering shut. "even when you're useless."
you let out a soft laugh, breathless, still ruined.
"shut up," you mumble, reaching down to smack her ass. she yelps and nips at your jaw, but she doesn't move from her spot on top of you.
your eyes are already closing. you're so tired, so utterly spent, that your head lolls to the side, lips resting on the crown of karina's head. you breathe her in.
she feels so good. you feel so good. you both smell like sweat and sex, and everything is sticky and gross, but you don't care.
you just want to lie here.
so, that's exactly what you do. you wrap your arms around her, keeping her close, keeping her safe, and let the sound of her breathing lull you to sleep.
synopsis. what starts as a painfully average fan account with delusional tweets, way too many edits, and the occasional 2am spiral about your favorite streamer — somehow turns into public beef when another stan decides they hate you specifically. they’re vague tweeting like it’s a sport. watching your interactions like it’s their job. you can’t sneeze without them quote tweeting it.
lines get messy. dms get opened. and now you might be accidentally be in a situationship with the one person you were never supposed to get noticed by: karina herself.
ᯓ | When Jimin lies to her mom about being in a serious relationship, the last person she expects to drag into her mess is Y/n–the campus cheerleader she’s spent the last two years arguing with across lecture halls and parties. But now, to keep up appearances over the holidays, they have to fake date through family dinners, long car rides and even in school.
ᯓ Genre: Rivals to fake-dating to lovers, slow burn, college AU, family drama, soft angst, eventual fluff
ᯓ Warning: swearing, argument, a little toxic, family pressure.
ᯓ Content: 9k+ words.
part one, part two
It was Y/n’s idea. Obviously.
"We need to be more affectionate. You know—public bond, believable romance, all that.”
Jimin didn’t even look up from her phone. "Why would I want to be more affectionate with you?”
“Because if we don’t sell it, this whole thing falls apart, you didn't tell me that Yujin's cousin comes to our school." Y/n said, flipping her hair like she hadn’t just insulted Jimin’s entire existence by sitting on her couch in her cheer uniform.
Jimin rolled her eyes and let it go. She didn’t think anything would come of it.
Until the next morning.
A text. A photo.
Y/n in her mirror, ponytail tight, a smirk on her lips like she knew exactly what she was doing.
“Smile rating? GF points?”
Jimin stared at it for a full minute before typing back: "Try again. 6/10.”
She said it to be annoying, to remind her that they weren’t friends. And then—because apparently she was losing her mind—she stopped at the café before class and got Y/n’s stupid drink.
The next day? Another selfie. This one with a peace sign. The day after that, a sleepy one, pillow hair and all. And again the day after, a cute one with breakfast.
She kept sending them. And Jimin kept showing up with coffee.
Y/n just started saying “thanks, babe” in front of people, and Jimin would glare but not deny it.
She’d insult her taste in music in the car. Y/n would mock her driving. But every morning, there she was. Jimin didn’t know when it became routine. And she definitely didn’t know why it bothered her when Y/n forgot one morning and didn’t text.
When they got back to campus, nothing changed. On the surface.
Y/n still rolled her eyes every time Jimin made a snarky comment. She still called her “cheer vilain” under her breath and mimicked her perfect posture when she wasn’t looking. She was the same — effortlessly confident, occasionally unbearable, and totally unfazed by how tangled their fake relationship was getting.
The only difference was that Jimin was starting to notice… everything.
Like the way Y/n flipped her hair when she was annoyed. The way she chewed gum like she was trying to intimidate someone. The way she laughed when she didn’t mean to — not the cheerleader laugh, the real one, quick and unguarded.
It was infuriating.
And Jimin hated how easy it was for Y/n to slide into character. Holding her hand in front of their classmates like it was nothing. Wrapping their hands together when they passed by people from cheer. Whispering dumb things in her ear just to make her laugh — or to make it look like she did.
She was good at this. Too good.
And Jimin was starting to forget which parts were fake.
Which was why, when Heeseung asked how things were going, Jimin straight-up threw a pillow at his face.
“I’m just saying,” he grinned, holding up his hands, “you’ve been way less grumpy lately. Maybe dating your mortal enemy is actually healthy?”
“She’s not my—” Jimin stopped herself. “We’re faking it. I told you that.”
Heeseung shrugged. “Yeah, and I told you lying to your mom would spiral. Now look at you, making out in front of the cafeteria.”
“We didn’t make out. She kissed me on the cheek.”
“Ohhh, right. My mistake. Super platonic cheek kisses.”
Jimin groaned and buried her face in a cushion. “I hate you.”
“No, you hate her,” he said, casually scrolling his phone. “Except now you get her coffee every morning which you know how exactly she likes it and stare at your phone like a golden retriever waiting for a good morning text.”
“I’m not—!”
He raised a brow as she shut up. The problem
was, Y/n didn’t know. About any of it. She thought they were still playing a game — still pretending. And maybe Jimin was too. She just didn’t know if she was pretending to be her girlfriend…
or pretending not to care.
-
Y/n was sprawled comfortably on Jimin’s couch, her feet tucked under her as she answered her phone with a cheery, “Oh! I’ll take that—Heeseung, stop hating on Meredith. She’s a complex character. And shut up.”
Y/n kicked her legs lightly as she leaned back against the couch, phone balanced on her shoulder, voice light.
“Oh my god, you didn’t! Wait, wait, Mrs. Yu—no, Jimin did not say that!"
She was talking about her bestfriend, like this was a normal catch-up with a longtime family friend, not her fake girlfriend’s mother.
Jimin stared.
From the kitchen counter, she gripped her mug a little tighter than necessary, pretending she was busy scrolling on her phone. But she wasn’t. Not really. She was listening to every word. Every laugh. Every “you’re so funny” and “I’d love to see pictures of baby Jimin.”
Heeseung leaned closer and muttered, “You good?”
Jimin shot him a glare, low and deadly. “Don’t start.”
But he just smirked, nudging her elbow. “Your mom likes her, a lot, more than me.”
“I said don’t start.”
Across the room, Y/n covered the speaker with her hand and turned toward them. “She wants to know if we’re coming to Busan again for the long weekend.”
We. Not you. Not Jimin. We.
Jimin blinked. “Why would we—?”
“I said maybe. Depending on practice and, you know, your schedule and stuff,” Y/n added, casually, like it was nothing. “Anyway, she’s sending me a kimchi recipe. Apparently yours is trash.”
Heeseung choked on a laugh.
Y/n tossed him a smug smile and went back to the call, the warmth never leaving her voice. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll text you the moment we’re on the road. Pinky promise.”
Jimin just stood there, watching her. Watching the way she tucked her chin into the pillow, her voice dropping to that soft, familiar tone that wasn’t meant for people like Jimin.
And it hit her again—Y/n was good at this. Too good.
Then Y/n hung up, set the phone aside, and stretched with a satisfied sigh. “Your mom says hi, by the way. And that I should stop letting you drink too much coffee. Apparently it makes you meaner.”
Jimin scoffed. “I’m not mean.”
“You’re literally scowling at me right now.”
“That’s just my face.”
“Okay, Wednesday Addams,” Y/n smirked, standing to grab her jacket. “You’re lucky I like your mom.”
Jimin didn’t answer.
She just stood there, heart pounding, arms crossed tight. Wondering how someone could get so close without even trying.
-
The car was silent except for the occasional hum of the engine, Jimin had pick up Y/n from cheer practice as she was sitting in the passenger seat, staring out the window, but her thoughts were racing.
Finally, she turned to Jimin, who had been unusually quiet since they left the gym. “It’s almost Valentine’s Day, you know.”
Jimin glanced at her, her fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “Yeah, I know.”
Y/n took a deep breath, feeling a bit of hesitation in her voice. “We should do something for Valentine’s Day, don't you think?"
Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed, the confusion clear on her face. “Why?”
Y/n sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Well we're supposed to be—” Y/n paused, trying to find the right word, “—a couple, you know? Couples do Valentine's Day.”
Jimin’s expression hardened, clearly annoyed at the direction of the conversation. “I don’t get it. We’re just… pretending. None of this is real, it's unnecessary."
Y/n’s face tightened. “That's the thing we are pretending so we should do that sort of thing. What would your mom say when she will see we haven't post any pictures on Instagram, I don’t want her to get suspicious, Jimin.”
Jimin was silent for a moment, staring straight ahead as if trying to process everything Y/n had said. She didn’t want to admit it, but her mom had been obsessed with their couple.
But still, Jimin didn’t want to go along with this.
“Why do we have to force ourselves?” Jimin finally muttered, her voice low. “Why can’t we just let this… die down on its own? This whole fake relationship thing is already so messed up. Valentine's Day is way too intimate.”
Y/n rolled her eyes in frustration. “I'm not asking you to marry me because this isn’t about us or what we feel. It’s about keeping up appearances, keeping your family from questioning the whole thing.”
Jimin was quiet again, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel as she processed everything. She didn’t like it. Didn’t like how this was spiraling. But Y/n was right, and she knew it.
With a heavy sigh, Jimin finally muttered, “Fine. But just one day. One dinner. A couple of pictures. That’s it. After that, no more, okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” Y/n muttered, eyes fixed on the blurred city lights outside the car window. Her voice was low, tired. “Do you still hate me, Jimin?”
Jimin gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, jaw flexing. “Of course. What kind of question is that?”
“Just asking,” Y/n said, shoulders rising in a small shrug. The air between them grew thick with silence.
Jimin didn’t respond. The soft hum of the engine filled the car, headlights casting faint glows against passing cars.
Y/n spoke again. “Should I stop sending pictures every morning? You don’t even answer. Minjeong told me you might think it’s unnecessary.”
Jimin’s head turned slightly. “No—keep going. It’s only fair, I bring you coffee.”
“You don’t even reply.”
Jimin scoffed under her breath. “What am I supposed to do? Call you pretty?”
Y/n finally turned to face her, expression unreadable. “I’m your girlfriend. Fake or not, you never reply to any of my texts, Jimin. How am I supposed to know you—pretend to know you—if I can’t even get a ‘yeah, I ate’ or ‘I’m not coming over after tutoring lessons'? I sit there, alone, like an idiot, thinking maybe you’ll show up."
Jimin looked away, eyes fixed on the streetlights ahead. Her voice dropped. “I just don’t want it to feel real.”
“It’s already real, Jimin,” Y/n said quietly, not angrily, just… resigned. “We’re posting pictures. I’m talking to your mom. I’m showing up with you everywhere.”
Silence again. Then Jimin muttered, “I don’t want you close.”
Y/n laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Okay. I get it."
The car finally stopped in front of Y/n's building.
“I still hate you too. Just so you know,” she added.
Jimin’s hand twitched on the steering wheel. Her voice barely above a whisper: “Yeah. I know.”
Y/n didn’t move. Her hand stayed on the door handle, but she didn’t pull it open. She just sat there, eyes down, fingers curling slightly against the cold metal.
Jimin risked a glance at her.
Outside, the rain tapped lightly against the windshield. The city was quiet for once, wrapped in that stillness that only really came late at night. Inside the car, everything felt loud. Their breathing. The unsaid things. The weight of what they were doing—and what it was starting to become.
“Look,” Jimin started, voice low, like she wasn’t sure she should even say it. “I’m trying, alright? This was never supposed to go past Christmas. You weren’t supposed to be so… good at this.”
Y/n gave her a look. “Good at pretending?”
Jimin swallowed. “Good at… being part of my life.”
Y/n let that sit for a second before replying, voice sharp again. “Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t act like being near me is some kind of punishment, it wouldn’t feel like I’m doing this alone.”
That stung more than Jimin expected.
Y/n finally opened the door but paused halfway out, leaning back in just enough to add, without looking at her, “Don’t worry. I won’t make it real for you.”
Then she shut the door behind her and walked up the steps to Y/n's building without another word.
Jimin stayed behind in the car, eyes locked on the steering wheel, her fingers tight around it. The silence returned, heavier than before.
She didn’t know why it bothered her so much. But it did.
And that scared her.
Jimin sat in her car for a long time after Y/n left. The empty passenger seat felt heavier than it should’ve, the air thick with things she didn’t want to name. She stared blankly through the windshield, her fingers clenched around the steering wheel like if she held on tight enough, maybe everything would make sense.
She hated this. Not Y/n—well, maybe a little—but mostly the way this fake thing was becoming something she had to think about.
“You don’t even reply.”
She remembered the look on Y/n’s face when she said that. Not angry. Just tired.
Eventually, Jimin drove off. No direction. Just a need to get away. She ended up at a small convenience store, the kind that still had yellowed tiles and humming refrigerators. She grabbed sushi without thinking—her comfort food, even if it was sad and overpriced in Seoul.
She sat with it in the car. Opened the little soy sauce packets. Took a bite. And for some reason, all she could think about was how Y/n would’ve complained about the rice being soggy.
Which is exactly how, thirty minutes later, she ended up back outside her own apartment.
Y/n opened the door in pajama shorts and a messy bun, half-surprised and half-annoyed.
“You’re back,” she said, crossing her arms.
Jimin held up the bag of sushi. “Peace offering.”
“You literally drove away.”
“I panicked. Shut up,” she muttered. “Anyway, I thought about what you said. And you’re right. If we’re going to do this until May, we might as well not suck at it.”
Y/n raised an eyebrow. “So your grand plan was… sushi?”
“And bonding,” Jimin added, stepping inside without asking. “You like stupid little bonding moments, don’t you?”
Y/n snorted. “You’re unbearable.”
They sat on the floor, Jimin spreading napkins like it was some sort of picnic. She passed Y/n her favorite roll, somehow remembering from a time they were barely speaking.
“Alright,” Jimin said, chewing, “since we’re ‘getting to know each other’—favorite movie?”
Y/n looked at her, skeptical. “Seriously?”
“Answer the question, cheerleader.”
Y/n sighed, but she played along. “Clueless.”
Jimin paused mid-bite. “…That tracks.”
Y/n grinned. “Yours?”
“Fight club.”
“Of course.”
The questions came easy after that. Favorite comfort food. Most hated teacher. First concert. They laughed when they realized they both snuck out to see BLACKPINK back in high school, probably standing in the same stadium at the same time.
Y/n leaned back on her hands. “Okay. Your turn. Deep question: if you weren’t scared of failing, what would you be doing right now?”
Jimin blinked.
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
“…Probably something completely different,” she said eventually, softer. “But I don’t know what. Not pretending, though.”
Y/n didn’t push. She just nodded and looked down at the soy sauce packet beside her.
They weren’t friends. They weren’t lovers. They were still enemies. But for one night, with cold sushi and honesty between them, they were something else.
Maybe something that mattered.
The soy sauce packet slipped from Y/n’s hand and splashed onto her wrist.
“Shit,” she muttered, wiping it off with a napkin. “You’d think after years of sushi runs I’d have mastered opening one of these.”
Jimin snorted, mouth full of rice. “You act like you’re graceful but you’re literally chaos.”
“Thanks,” Y/n rolled her eyes. “Remind me to never compliment you again.”
They were sitting cross-legged on Y/n’s living room floor, boxes of sushi and drinks scattered between them, backs resting against the couch. It was quiet in a comfortable way — almost too comfortable for two girls who swore they hated each other.
Jimin reached for another salmon roll. “So… what other things do we have to practice for this fake dating thing?”
Y/n blinked. “You’re actually taking this seriously now?”
Jimin shrugged, chewing. “Better than letting everyone realize we’re lying.”
Y/n leaned back on her hands, eyes on the ceiling. “Well. If we’re being thorough… Ningning is planning this ridiculous Valentine’s Day couple challenge thing.”
Jimin groaned. “Why are cheerleaders like this?”
Y/n rolled her eyes. "I don’t know, but you’re dating one. So suck it up.”
“Fake dating,” Jimin corrected quickly.
Y/n smirked. “Sure.”
Jimin side-eyed her. “What kind of things are in the challenge?”
Y/n hesitated. “Matching outfits. Answering question right. Sharing food. A cute morning selfie post. And, uh…”
Jimin raised an eyebrow. “And?”
Y/n kept her gaze on the sushi box. “There’s a kissing round.”
A beat of silence.
Jimin blinked. “And you’re suddenly shy? You literally kissed Jeno on the field once during a pep rally.”
Y/n’s face dropped. “No, I didn’t. That was rumour his friends started."
Jimin stared. “So what you have kissed him anyway." Y/n only look away from her. "You’ve never kissed him?”
Y/n picked at her chopsticks. “No. It just… never happened. Not with Jeno, not anyone. And now it’s supposed to happen with you in a couple challenge that Ningning’s probably livestreaming.”
Jimin blinked again. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
More silence. The rustling of chopsticks. The fizz of soda opening.
“I mean—” Jimin started, licking soy sauce from her lip, “—we can practice. If you want.”
Y/n turned to her slowly. “Practice?”
“You’re the one panicking about messing up a kiss in public,” Jimin shrugged, trying to sound casual but clearly a little thrown. “It’s not that deep. We’re pretending to be dating. It’s method acting.”
Y/n laughed nervously. “Do you… kiss all your enemies as practice?”
“No,” Jimin said, leveling her gaze. “Just the annoying cheerleader ones who send me selfies every morning and steal the last spicy tuna.”
Y/n’s heart beat a little faster, but she disguised it with a scoff. “Right. Strictly business.”
Jimin nodded. “Strictly.”
But neither of them moved to turn the TV back on. And neither of them reached for more sushi.
Just quiet tension, and a shared thought they both refused to say out loud yet.
Not yet.
“I mean, we don’t have to,” Y/n said quickly finally breaking the silence unsure why she even brought it up. “It’s not like they’re gonna kick us out of the couple challenge if the kiss is awkward.”
Jimin tilted her head. “You’re the one who brought it up.”
Y/n bit her lip, avoiding eye contact. “Because I didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”
A. beat passed. The dim light in Jimin’s living room made everything feel a little softer, a little quieter.
“I’m not gonna make fun of you,” Jimin said after a moment. “This is… weirdly serious for you.”
“It’s my first kiss,” Y/n admitted again, barely a whisper.
Jimin sat up straighter. “Okay.” She breathed in slowly. “We’ll go slow.”
Y/n blinked. “Right now?”
Jimin gave her a look. “You want to wait until Valentine’s Day with a hundred eyes watching you?”
“…Good point.”
Jimin leaned in just a little, like testing the water. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Y/n nodded, heart racing. “Are you okay?”
“I’m not the one sweating,” Jimin teased softly.
Y/n shoved her shoulder. “Shut up.”
But then Jimin was looking at her again. Not in that way she usually did — the one with the sarcastic edge or exasperated sigh. This one was different. Patient. Curious.
“Okay, I’m gonna go,” Jimin said quietly.
And she did. Soft, careful, barely there — just a brush of lips. It lasted maybe two seconds. Then another one, a little more sure.
Y/n froze at first, but then she leaned in. Let it happen. The kind of kiss that wasn’t electric, or life-shattering — just warm and safe and real.
When they pulled apart, Jimin looked away first.
“That was…” Y/n said, voice stuck somewhere between a breath and a laugh.
“Not bad,” Jimin offered, standing up too quickly, pretending to stretch. “You’ll survive.”
Y/n just nodded. “Cool. Um… thanks. For helping.”
“No big deal,” Jimin muttered, already pretending to scroll on her phone. “Let’s forget it happened.”
But she didn’t forget.
-
Jimin walked in with Y/n by her side, their hands casually brushing, like it had become a habit.
Ningning’s place was decked out in the most excessive (and slightly chaotic) Valentine’s aesthetic imaginable. Pink streamers clung to every wall, heart-shaped confetti was already sticking to everyone’s socks, and a faint scent of chocolate and artificial strawberries lingered in the air.
Ningning’s living room had been transformed into a pastel heart-filled wonderland — balloons in every shade of pink and red, chocolate fountains on the kitchen counter, and a handmade photobooth Ningning had forced every couple into.
Y/n had already taken three photos with Jimin — one holding fake roses, one with a candy heart filter, and one where she leaned against Jimin’s shoulder. The first two, Jimin had scowled. The last… Jimin didn’t even realize she was smiling.
Now, as the party settled into casual chaos — soft music playing, people snuggled in corners, eating or playing card games — Jimin found herself standing by the drink table alone, watching Y/n laugh with Yizhuo and Liz like she’d always been part of this world.
“You okay?” Minjeong’s voice broke through her thoughts.
Jimin turned. “Oh. Yeah. Just tired.”
Minjeong handed her a chocolate-covered strawberry. “You guys are kinda perfect together. I didn’t think I’d ever say that.”
Jimin blinked. “…What?”
Minjeong smiled, eyes soft and sincere. “I’ve known her since we were kids. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this happy — this light. It’s like she doesn’t have to try with you. Like she can just be.”
Jimin didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. Her mind ran over every moment from the past few weeks — the morning selfies, the coffee runs, the sushi night, that stupid kiss practice that had her staring at the wall all night after.
Minjeong leaned closer, voice lowering like it was a secret. “She’s falling for you deeply, Jimin. I think you are too. Well if it didn't happen yet." She giggled.
Jimin’s heart clenched, not because Minjeong was right — but because she didn’t know how wrong she was.
This wasn’t real. Except, it didn’t feel fake anymore.
And that’s what terrified her the most.
“Okay! Everyone shut up — it’s game time!” Ningning called out, standing on her coffee table with a pink heart-shaped megaphone.
Y/n, curled up next to Jimin on the love seat, groaned quietly. “She’s been waiting all week to do this.”
Jimin leaned in, murmuring back. “Why do I feel like this is where we get exposed?”
“Because it is,” Y/n whispered, her voice dry.
Ningning cleared her throat dramatically. “Alright! Time for the Couples Challenge — Valentine’s Edition. You’ll be tested on how in sync you really are. And yes, there’s a prize, and yes, it’s stupidly cute.”
Minjeong, sitting below her girlfriend with an amused smile, added, “She made it. It’s a DIY ‘Most Adorable Couple’ plaque.”
“Oh my god,” Jimin muttered under her breath.
Ningning continued, clapping her hands. “Final round is a kiss. Not just any kiss — the longest kiss wins bonus points.”
Y/n turned to Jimin. “We’re not doing that.”
Jimin blinked, face already flushed. “Obviously.”
“But if we don’t, we lose.”
“We don’t need to win.”
“But your mom follows my Instagram.”
“…Goddamn it.”
ROUND 1: Trivia Match
“What’s your partner’s favorite midnight snack?”
Jimin blinked at Y/n’s paper. “You wrote… string cheese?”
Y/n nodded. “With honey mustard.”
“Disturbing.” Jimin held up “banana milk.”
“You know me so well.”
ROUND 2: Touch test
Y/n was blindfolded as she touched Jimin’s face — the curve of her jaw — she paused.
“Cheek?” she guessed.
Jimin looked at her strangely. “…Jaw.”
“Close enough.”
They didn’t hold eye contact after that.
ROUND 3: Most likely to...
Question: Who’s most likely to start a fight over nothing?
Y/n confidently writes Jimin. Jimin writes Y/n.
They glare.
“Really?”
“I’m not the one who slammed my locker because I couldn’t find my lip balm.”
“That was one time and it was lip gloss, Jimin!”
They get a point for “sync in chaos.”
ROUND 4: Spill or Kiss
Ningning reads the question:
“What’s the most romantic thing you’ve done for each other?”
Y/n panics. “We're not— I mean—”
Jimin shrugs, cool. “She sends me a photo every morning so I don’t forget her face.”
Everyone went "awwww.”
Y/n turns red.
Then Jimin turns to her and whispers, “Your turn.”
Y/n frowns. “She brings me coffee every morning… but she never says hi.”
Everyone went "awww" once again.
FINAL ROUND: The Kiss Round
The air in Ningning’s living room was warm with laughter and music, fairy lights glowing soft above their heads. Pillows were scattered, people were lounging with drinks in hand, and couples were tangled together like puzzle pieces that somehow fit.
Jimin sat upright on the floor, stiff, her hand clenching her soda can a little too tight. She wasn’t built for games like this — not ones that tugged at things she wasn’t ready to name.
“Alright,” Ningning announced with a clap, “Final round! The couples kiss. Audience votes. Ten seconds minimum. No cheating. And we want passion you have to kiss your partner like it’s the last time you’ll ever see them. Most convincing wins.”
Someone whistled. Jimin’s stomach sank.
She turned slightly, catching the glow of Y/n’s face beside her. Smaller, still out of breath from laughing too hard during the last round. Her hair was slightly tousled, her cheeks flushed. Y/n met her eyes and smirked just a little. “Should we lose on purpose?”
Jimin opened her mouth to say yes — please, let’s just bow out — but her mother’s voice rang faint in her ears: “You’re doing so well, sweetie. Y/n really grounds you.”
She couldn’t afford suspicion. Not now.
“No,” she muttered. “We’ll win.”
Y/n’s brows rose, surprised. “You sure?”
Before Jimin could answer, the spotlight — or Ningning’s dramatic pointing — landed on them.
“Y/n and Jimin. You’re up.”
Jimin turned to face Y/n, already feeling the warmth crawl up her neck. Everyone was watching.
It wasn’t like they hadn’t kissed. That practice kiss still lingered somewhere in the back of her mind. But that was private, awkward — tentative. This? This was a performance. And maybe something more.
The whole room faded to the background.
“We said we should act like it’s real,” Jimin whispered softly for only the cheerleader to hear, almost like a warning. Then, lower, “So let’s make it real.”
And before Y/n could answer, Jimin leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t delicate.
It was full-bodied, anchored. Jimin kissed her like she meant it — like the room had disappeared, like Y/n wasn’t the girl she hated for years, but someone she knew. One hand still firm on Y/n’s jaw, the other moved to her waist, pulling her closer like she couldn’t stand the space between them.
Y/n’s breath caught. Her hands found Jimin’s hoodie, gripping it weakly, the edges of her world spinning. She didn’t know where to put the flood of feeling rushing through her — wasn’t sure if it was the kiss, or the fact that Jimin was really kissing her.
When Jimin finally pulled back, there was a beat of silence — heavy and stunned.
Then the room exploded. Laughter, clapping, cheering.
“Okayyy!” Ningning screamed. “I think we have a winner!”
-
The knock on the door came just as Y/n was flicking through the most depressing fridge she’d ever seen. Empty shelves. One sad can of soda. Half a lemon.
She opened the door and blinked when she saw Jimin standing there, holding a bag of takeout and looking way too casual in sweatpants and a hoodie.
“You looked hungry through text,” Jimin said, walking in without waiting.
“I didn’t send a selfie this morning.”
“I know.”
Y/n’s brows rose, but she didn’t say anything as Jimin unloaded the food on her small kitchen table — tteokbokki, kimbap, and fried chicken. All her favorites. Y/n couldn’t help but grin a little.
“Okay. I’ll allow you to invade my apartment if you keep doing this.”
“You love me,” Jimin smirked, almost out of habit.
“You wish,” Y/n muttered around a bite, lips stained with red sauce.
They sat together on the floor, legs stretched under the table, food between them. The TV played in the background, but neither was paying attention. They laughed more than they had in days — mostly at Jimin’s terrible impersonation of Heeseung trying to flirt.
Jimin was happy.
But she didn’t realize just how happy until Y/n, lying back on the floor with her stomach full, casually said:
Jimin licked some sauce off her thumb, catching Y/n staring. “What?”
“Nothing.” Y/n grinned. “You’re just—so serious when you eat.”
“I’m focused.”
“You’re dramatic.”
Jimin rolled her eyes but her lips tugged up. She hadn’t realized how easy it had become to laugh with her.
Y/n nudged her shoulder. “You’re fun when you’re not hating me.”
“I still hate you,” Jimin replied, but it came out too soft to sound convincing.
“Sure.” Y/n smiled, stretching out. “Hey, Jack’s throwing a party tonight. Wanna come?”
Jimin raised an eyebrow. “Jack? As in frat-boy Jack?”
Y/n laughed. “Yeah, but it’s not that deep. Minjeong’s going. Everyone will be there.”
“I didn’t think you’d wanna show up with me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Y/n looked up, genuine curiosity in her voice. “We’re dating, remember?"
Jimin blinked. “Right. Dating.”
Y/n didn’t press. She just stood, brushing off her sweats. “We can go for like an hour. If you want.”
And for some reason, Jimin found herself nodding.
-
The house was already packed when they arrived — music thumping, voices rising above the bass, neon lights flickering against the walls like a heartbeat. Jimin followed Y/n through the crowd, her hand barely brushing the back of the cheerleader’s head. She could smell her shampoo in the air between them. Peach and vanilla.
The moment they stepped into the living room, a chorus of cheers erupted.
“Y/n!” Ningning squealed from across the room, a red plastic cup in one hand and her girlfriend, Minjeong, barely managing to hold her back with the other.
Y/n laughed. “I told you they’d be loud.”
Jimin offered a faint smile, nodding to Minjeong — the only one here who seemed to feel the same way as her about the party — before being swept into a crowd of unfamiliar faces.
At first, it was fine. Y/n stayed close. She introduced Jimin as her girlfriend with casual charm that made it almost believable. They clinked drinks, smiled for a few pictures, even laughed with Liz and Beomgyu about how badly they’d bomb a couples trivia round.
But then it shifted.
Y/n got pulled into Ningning’s circle — all glossed lips, glittery eyeshadow, and voices sharpened with popularity. She blended in too well. Her laughter grew louder. She tossed her hair over her shoulder like she knew every eye was on her — because they were.
And Jimin? Jimin stood at the edge of it all, invisible.
She hated how familiar it felt. Watching Y/n shine while she sank into the background. She tried not to let it bother her. Tried to remind herself that it wasn’t real. None of this was.
But then he appeared.
Jeno.
Jimin’s stomach twisted the second she saw him, drink in hand, grin stretched lazy across his face as he moved through the crowd like he owned it. He spotted Y/n almost immediately and slid up beside her, leaning in to speak close — too close — lips nearly brushing her ear.
Y/n laughed.
Jimin’s jaw clenched.
Her cup was empty. She didn’t even remember drinking it. She turned to leave, needing air or silence or literally anything but this — but then it hit her.
The reason Y/n agreed to this in the first place.
She wasn’t trying to help Jimin.
She was trying to make him jealous.
Jimin froze at the doorway, eyes still on Y/n and Jeno, the way he placed his hand on her waist like it belonged there.
It shouldn’t bother her.
But it did.
Because the way Y/n looked tonight wasn’t just pretty. She was breathtaking. Real and here and laughing at a joke that Jimin would never get to hear.
She suddenly didn’t want to be here anymore.
She wanted to disappear — or worse — pull Y/n away and ask who she thought she was trying to hurt, because it sure as hell wasn’t Jeno anymore.
It was her.
Jimin hadn’t said a word in ten minutes.
She stood in the middle of the crowded party, surrounded by people she barely knew and music that was starting to feel like static.
It made Jimin’s chest tighten.
“You look like you’re about to punch someone,” a familiar voice teased behind her.
She didn’t need to turn around to know it was Minjeong.
“Just tired,” Jimin muttered, arms crossed as she forced her gaze away.
Minjeong moved beside her, sipping from a red cup. “Tired and jealous look eerily similar on you.”
Jimin didn’t respond, jaw tightening slightly.
Minjeong smiled knowingly. “You know… I didn’t think Y/n was the relationship type. But you really changed something in her.”
That made Jimin turn, brows pulling together. “What?”
Minjeong tilted her head, sincere now. “She used to get bored of people so easily. Even with Jeno, it never looked like this. But with you? She glows. She’s actually letting someone see her — and I’ve known her long enough to know how rare that is.”
Jimin blinked. Her heart stuttered.
She wasn’t sure what hurt more — the fact that Minjeong believed it, or the fact that she didn’t know if it was still fake.
“I…” Jimin started, voice dry but no words came out.
Jimin stared blankly at the floor. Minjeong gave her a pat on the arm and disappeared into the crowd, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the dull pulse of music in the background.
Then—
“Jimin!” Y/n's voice.
Her name cut through the bass-heavy music, and Jimin glanced up just in time to see Y/n weaving through the crowd toward her. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, maybe from the drinks, and she had that wide, excited grin she always wore when she was riding a high of attention.
“There you are,” Y/n said, catching her breath. “Come play beer pong with me.”
Jimin blinked. “What?”
“C’mon,” Y/n tugged her hand without waiting, “I need a partner. Ningning already took Minjeong, and I am not playing with Beomgyu again, he does the absolute most.”
Jimin didn’t want to. She wanted to leave, actually. But Y/n’s hand was warm, and the way she was smiling made it hard to say no.
So she followed.
The basement was louder, smell of beer and too much perfume mingling in the air. Jimin could barely hear herself think, but before she could protest, someone handed her a red solo cup and Y/n was lining up the ping pong ball.
“I’ll start,” Y/n said confidently, and Jimin just raised a brow.
They were winning — mostly because Y/n was competitive and charismatic, and people liked watching her. But every time someone made a comment like “Damn, power couple!” or “You two are too hot, this is unfair,” Jimin took a longer sip of her drink.
She wasn’t counting how many she’d had. She just knew she was warm, her cheeks tingled, and she felt a little too exposed every time Y/n leaned into her personal space to laugh, or high-five, or whisper something in her ear to throw off the other team.
By the fourth round, Jimin’s aim was off.
Y/n turned to her, chuckling. “You good?”
“Fine,” Jimin mumbled, but she was squinting at the cups like they were multiplying.
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m not—” Jimin paused, swayed slightly. “Okay maybe a little.”
Y/n smiled, stepping closer, her hand grazing Jimin’s lower back. “You’re a lightweight.”
Jimin stared at her. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Y/n just grinned wider, dimples showing. “A little.”
And then someone cheered — they had won again — and Y/n turned to give Jimin a hug, arms wrapping around her shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Jimin froze.
Not because she didn’t like it — but because she did.
And that terrified her.
“Hey, there you are,” Jeno's voice appeared behind her, slipping next to her like nothing. “Thought I lost you earlier. I wanted to finish what we were talking about.”
"I thought we had finished talking." Y/n smirked.
“Come on,” he laughed, leaning in slightly. “You don’t have to keep pretending now. We both know this whole ‘girlfriend’ thing is because you wanna get back at me."
Before Y/n could answer, Jimin stepped into the conversation.
“What did you just say?”
Jimin’s voice wasn’t as sharp as usual — it had that drunk haze to it, slurred just at the edges. But her eyes were burning. There was no mistaking the fire behind them.
Jeno raised an eyebrow, amused. “Relax, it’s a joke. Just saying it’s cute, the way she’s dragging this whole thing out. Didn’t expect you to fall for it.”
Jimin stepped forward, a little unsteady on her feet, but not stopping. “Dragging what out?” she asked, low.
Jeno chuckled, sipping his drink like he hadn’t just poured gasoline on something dangerous. “You really think this is real? Come on, you don’t even look like her type. Thought I had her figured out, but guess not.”
“You don’t know anything about her,” Jimin snapped, pointing a lazy finger at him. “She’s not yours to talk about.”
“Oh, so she’s yours now?”
The words hit her like a slap — and not in the way he expected. She stood a little straighter, less wobbly. Drunk or not, Jimin’s voice sharpened.
“Yeah. She is.”
Jeno blinked, his smug expression faltering.
“I know what you’re doing,” Jimin continued, a little louder now. “You wanna feel important again, so you bring her up like you still have something on her. You don’t.”
People were starting to watch now, the party quieting around the scene.
Jeno looked to Y/n, like she might save him. “You’re just gonna let her talk like that for you?”
Y/n took a breath, but before she could speak, Jimin cut in again.
“She doesn’t need to say anything,” she snapped. “But I’m not letting you throw some fake ego tantrum at her like she owes you anything. You lost her, Jeno. That’s on you.”
There was a thick silence.
Then Jeno’s voice dropped lower. “You don’t know what she’s like when she gets bored.”
That was when Jimin laughed — bitter and breathy as she shove him.
“You really think she’s pretending?” Her words slurred again, but they hit harder than ever. “You think she’d waste her time playing around with someone like me just to get back at you?”
Jeno stared. Didn’t answer.
Jimin smiled, sharp and crooked. “You don’t know her at all.”
He muttered a curse, stepping back. “Whatever. You two are a f*cking mess.”
And then he walked away.
Jimin stood there, swaying slightly, the adrenaline mixing with alcohol. Her chest was heaving.
Y/n stepped in, gently wrapping a hand around Jimin’s arm. “Okay. That’s enough. You need water.”
“I’m fine,” Jimin muttered, but her voice broke a little.
“You’re not,” Y/n whispered. “But thank you.”
Jimin didn’t say anything — just let herself be led away, Y/n’s arm steady around her.
And even drunk, even overwhelmed, she knew:
She wasn’t pretending anymore. Not even a little.
-
The second the apartment door closed behind them, Jimin stumbled out of her shoes, nearly tripping on the rug. Y/n caught her by the arm.
“Okay—whoa, slow down, champ,” she said, trying not to laugh. “You’re wasted.”
“I’m not,” Jimin slurred, squinting at her. “I’m just… dizzy. From the rage. And… beer pong.”
Y/n guided her to the couch, where Jimin dramatically collapsed, draping herself across the cushions like a fallen hero.
“I could’ve taken him,” Jimin muttered, staring at the ceiling. “I should’ve punched him harder. Right in the stupid, smug face. Who names their kid Jeno, anyway?”
Y/n grabbed her a glass of water and sat next to her. “You didn’t punch him at all.”
“I wanted to!” Jimin sat up, unsteady. “He doesn’t deserve to look at you like that. Like you’re his. Like he owned some part of you. You’re not—” she paused, eyes heavy. “You’re not his anymore.”
Y/n blinked, her breath catching. “You’re really mad.”
“I am,” Jimin nodded seriously, and then her face crumpled. “I think I’m gonna cry. Wait, no—no, I’m good.”
Y/n stared at her, her expression unreadable in the low glow of the streetlights. Then she said, almost shyly, “You’re really bad at hating me, you know that?”
Jimin snorted. “No. I’m excellent at it. I’ve just got layers.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Like… I can hate you and still think you deserve better.”
That shut Y/n up.
Y/n held the water to her lips, and Jimin drank obediently, blinking slowly as she leaned back. There was a pause, quiet, soft.
“You know…” Jimin mumbled after a beat. “I forgot why I hated you in the first place.”
Y/n turned to her, surprised. “Seriously?”
Jimin nodded again, looking up at her with a haze in her eyes. “I think you’re really pretty. Even when you’re annoying.”
Y/n’s heart jumped.
“I mean,” Jimin added, “you’re still you, but… when you smiled earlier—like, when you were talking to Ningning? You looked happy. And I liked that.”
Y/n was quiet, processing her words.
“Jimin…” she whispered, voice lower now.
“Hmm?”
“Maybe you should sleep.”
Jimin closed her eyes slowly. “Only if you stay.”
Y/n hesitated, then reached for the blanket on the back of the couch and pulled it over both of them. Jimin curled into her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And as the room fell into a sleepy silence, Y/n sat there, heart pounding, wondering when all of this—this pretend—had started to feel like something she couldn’t untangle herself from.
Something real.
The sky outside was still dipped in early morning grey, barely tinged with pink. It bled softly through the curtains, scattering gentle light across the small living room. Jimin blinked slowly, her eyes adjusting as a dull throb pulsed behind them. Her mouth felt dry, her skin warm, and she could feel the weight of something—someone—pressed beside her.
Y/n.
At first, she thought she was still dreaming. Her head felt too light, her limbs too heavy. But as she turned her head slightly and was met with the very real sight of Y/n tucked against her side, reality settled in fast.
Her breathing paused.
Y/n was curled up, almost instinctively, against her chest, her body pressed close like it belonged there. Her hand rested against Jimin’s waist, fingers slightly curled into the fabric of her shirt. Her face was buried just beneath Jimin’s collarbone, the rise and fall of her breaths steady, calm, unaware.
Jimin swallowed, her heart thudding against her ribs.
The last thing she remembered was the party. The noise. The crowd. The heat.
Jeno.
The thought of him made Jimin’s stomach twist. His voice, that smug tone, the way he looked at Y/n like she still belonged to him, like Jimin had stolen something. Like she didn’t matter. And maybe the drinking hadn’t helped, maybe she had been reckless—but God, the way her blood boiled when he touched Y/n’s arm, the way he had spoken down to her, dismissed her like she was disposable—
And then it was a blur. Arguing. Yelling. The shoving. Hands almost flying. And then someone pulling her away—maybe Y/n—and the next thing she remembered was being wrapped in a blanket, in the dark, Y/n’s voice soft beside her.
“Just sleep it off, dumbass,” Y/n had muttered, but there was a gentleness in her voice. Not anger. Not annoyance.
Just concern.
And now they were here.
Wrapped up in each other like they hadn’t spent the last few months pretending. Like they weren’t faking everything for the sake of their reputations and a lie they told their families. Like this wasn’t supposed to be temporary.
It was quiet.
So quiet it made Jimin’s chest ache.
She looked down again. Y/n’s hair was a little messy, her lips slightly parted. She looked peaceful—nothing like the girl who usually rolled her eyes at Jimin during practice or called her names under her breath when she thought she couldn’t hear.
She looked… soft.
And Jimin realized, with a sharp pang in her chest, that something had shifted.
Not just last night, not just in the heat of that party—but somewhere along the way. Somewhere between the morning coffees and the pillow forts, the fake confessions and the forced laughs. Somewhere between the effort to make this look real and the moments where it felt real, she had stopped noticing the difference.
She let her head fall back onto the pillow and closed her eyes.
“This is fake,” she whispered to herself, as if saying it out loud would ground her again. “This is fake.”
But even in the stillness of the morning, even with Y/n breathing against her neck, Jimin felt like she was lying to herself.
The problem was—it didn’t feel fake anymore.
And Jimin didn’t know what scared her more:
The fact that Y/n might feel it too.
Or the fact that she absolutely didn’t.
-
As the cheer competition approached, Jimin found herself spiraling. She wasn’t sure if it was the looming pressure of the event, her parents’ constant reminders about her summer plans with Y/n, or the fact that the end of their fake relationship felt closer than ever. Maybe it was all of it — the excitement, the anxiety, the weight of it all pressing against her chest like an invisible hand.
Her mind was clouded. For weeks, she’d buried herself in the act — the fake dates, the fake affection, the fake moments that somehow felt a little too real. But now, with the final competition in sight, Jimin couldn’t shake the feeling that the bubble they’d been living in was about to burst.
Every time she saw Y/n, it felt like the end was inevitable, like the ticking clock of their arrangement was growing louder. The summer was coming, and Y/n’s family was already making plans for them — plans that Jimin couldn’t shake. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be part of Y/n’s life, but that terrified her even more. What would happen when the competition was over? Would they just go back to being nothing? Would everything they’d shared disappear?
Y/n didn’t seem affected by any of it. She didn’t talk about the end of the arrangement or what would come after. It was like nothing was changing for her. It only made Jimin’s heart ache more. She felt like she was standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down at the abyss.
But every time she looked at Y/n, she couldn’t help but feel drawn to her. How could something so real feel so fake?
The day of the competition arrived, and Jimin found herself driving Y/n to the bus. Y/n’s cheer squad was heading to the finals, and Jimin’s heart was heavy with more than just the usual nerves.
“Good luck, okay?” Jimin said quietly as she parked in front of the bus. She glanced at Y/n, her heart skipping a beat when their eyes met.
Y/n smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She kissed her fingertips and pressed them against Jimin’s cheek, a casual gesture, but Jimin felt the heat of it all the same. It didn’t matter that it was part of the act. It felt too real.
Y/n’s smile softened. “I’ll text you after,” she said, stepping out of the car, giving Jimin a final wave.
Jimin didn’t watch her walk away. Instead, she drove off, her heart aching as she tried to keep her emotions in check. What if it was really over this time? What if she drove away and never saw Y/n again?
She couldn’t shake the feeling. The whole thing was too much.
That’s when Heeseung texted her.
“Why don’t you come see Y/n at the finals? I’m sure she’d love to have you there.”
Jimin felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Heeseung was right — Y/n would probably want her there. But would she want to see Jimin after everything? After the doubts? After the way things were spiraling?
But Jimin couldn’t let herself back out now. If she didn’t go, if she didn’t show up, it might be the last chance she had to truly connect with Y/n before it was too late. She couldn’t let the fear hold her back.
Jimin stepped into the competition arena, still slightly nervous about being here, even though it was Heeseung who had convinced her to come. She had avoided Y/n’s texts, unsure of what to say — unsure if she was even ready for this. She had told herself she was here to support Y/n, but she wasn’t entirely sure how to act around her now, given the mess of emotions tangled up in her chest.
As Jimin and Heeseung walked into the venue, her eyes immediately scanned the crowd, trying to find Y/n. There was no way she’d be able to concentrate on anything else when she was in this space with all the tension swirling in her head. And then she saw her — Y/n was standing backstage, adjusting her uniform, laughing with a teammate. Jimin’s heart thudded in her chest, a strange flutter filling her stomach.
She had been hearing about Y/n’s cheer competition for weeks now, but seeing her in action was an entirely different thing. There was something about the way she stood there — confident, poised, yet radiating warmth and energy.
But Jimin couldn’t focus on that for long. A voice cut through her thoughts.
“Jimin, Heeseung, hey! You made it!” Minjeong waved her over.
Jimin turned and saw Minjeong standing with Y/n’s brother, Yeonjun, and her father, Chanwoo. Jimin felt her nerves kick into overdrive, unsure of how this would go.
“Hey,” Jimin said, giving a hesitant wave as she walked over. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she had to admit, it was a bit overwhelming meeting Y/n’s family after everything that had been happening between them. She hadn’t been prepared to be this nervous.
“Oh, you’re Jimin, right?” Chanseo asked with a friendly smile as he extended his hand. He seemed relaxed and welcoming. “I’ve heard so much about you. Y/n’s always talking about you.”
Jimin’s stomach flipped. She hadn’t expected to be recognized so easily, but then again, Y/n’s dad was clearly up to date on her Instagram posts and everything.
“Yeah,” Jimin said awkwardly as she shook his hand, “I’m Jimin. Nice to meet you.”
Chanseo smiled knowingly. “Y/n talks about you a lot, you know. I see your posts — she’s always tagging you, saying how much you help her. You seem to be a good influence on her.”
Jimin froze, unsure how to respond. She couldn’t help but glance at Yeonjun, who was watching her closely, a teasing grin on his face.
“Don’t worry,” Yeonjun added, “Dad’s been on Instagram again. He keeps tabs on everything Y/n does.”
Jimin nodded, trying to mask the awkwardness that was creeping up on her. She didn’t know what Y/n had told them about her, or if they even knew about the whole “fake dating” thing. But before she could say anything else, Chanseo was already looking over at the stage.
“Looks like it’s almost time,” Chanseo said, nodding toward the main stage as the announcers began the countdown for the final teams.
Jimin followed his gaze, her heart racing. She wasn’t sure what to expect from this whole competition, but now that she was here, she felt like the stakes were higher than ever.
When the final whistle blew and Y/n’s squad was announced as the winners, the gym erupted into chaos—cheers, confetti, teammates screaming and tackling her into a group hug. The win felt unreal. Her heart was pounding, her throat dry from shouting, but all she could do was laugh, overwhelmed with joy.
She hadn’t even thought to look for Jimin. Honestly, she hadn’t expected her to show up. The fake dating thing had become so tangled, so confusing lately—half teasing, half arguments, and a small, quiet part of her that had started hoping it wasn’t fake at all.
But then she saw her.
Jimin, standing by the bleachers in her black hoodie and that unreadable expression, hands tucked into her pockets like she hadn’t just stood there watching the whole routine. Watching her.
Y/n froze, blinking like she wasn’t sure if she was imagining it.
Her dad was there. And her brother, clapping wildly in the stands, waving like maniacs.
But standing quietly to the side, like she didn’t want to be noticed—was Jimin.
Y/n hadn’t known Jimin was coming.
She hadn’t let herself hope Jimin would come.
But she was here. And suddenly, the noise, the confetti, even the gold medal around her neck faded into the background.
And then she ran.
Not toward Minjeong. Not her dad. Not Yeonjun.
Straight toward Jimin.
No hesitation. No teasing quip or smug grin. Just full speed, eyes wide and shining with something raw and real.
Jimin barely had time to react before Y/n threw her arms around her, burying her face into her chest, the energy of the win still radiating off her.
“You came,” Y/n breathed, her voice muffled, almost like she was afraid to believe it.
Jimin held her tightly, like she didn’t want to let go. “Of course I did.”
Y/n pulled back just enough to look up at her, face flushed, eyes shining. “I thought you didn’t care about this stuff.”
Jimin gave a soft smile, brushing a strand of hair from Y/n’s face. “I didn’t,” she said quietly. “Until it was you out there.”
And just like that, the fake label hanging over them didn’t matter anymore.
Her dad reached them first, eyes still glassy from pride. “There’s my champion,” he said, pulling her into a hug, then giving Jimin a warm, knowing smile. “What a lovely couple! Y/n, you shouldn't have hide her from us!”
Her brother, older and nosier by nature, raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell us she was gonna be here.”
Y/n shrugged quickly, trying to keep her voice steady. “She surprised me.”
-
The confetti had settled. The cheers had died down. The crowd was dispersing. Y/n and Jimin stood just outside, the noise now replaced by the steady hum of late afternoon footsteps and distant chatter.
“This is it, right?” Jimin asked quietly, voice tight but steady.
Y/n’s heart skipped. She swallowed, forcing herself to meet Jimin’s eyes. “Yeah. After today… we’re done.”
No one had said it out loud before. Not really. But now it hung heavy between them, as real as the gold medal still shining around Y/n’s neck.
Jimin exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing for a moment. “I thought… maybe it wouldn’t feel like this at the end.”
Y/n’s fingers tightened around the medal ribbon. “Me too.”
They looked at each other, a thousand unspoken words swirling in the space between them. The fake smiles, the sarcastic teasing, the constant battles — all of it had been a mask for something else. Something neither of them had dared to name.
“Do you regret it?” Jimin asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Y/n blinked, then shook her head. “No. Not even for a second.”
Jimin stepped closer, her hands hesitating at Y/n’s hand. “So why does it feel like I’m losing you already?”
Y/n swallowed hard, the sudden vulnerability catching her off guard. “Because maybe we’re not as fake as we thought.”
Jimin’s gaze softened. “What if we don’t have to break up? What if this—us—doesn’t have to end?”
Y/n’s breath hitched. The medal felt heavy, but this moment felt even heavier — full of possibility and fear all at once.
“I don’t know,” Y/n whispered. “But we can’t pretend forever, we have plans on our own. We can’t hold back each other from finding love—”
Jimin cut her off, voice steady but raw. “I don’t want to find someone else. Not anymore.”
Y/n’s breath caught as she looked up, surprised by the sudden confession.
Jimin took a small step closer, searching her eyes. “This fake relationship… it was supposed to be just a game. But it stopped being fake a long time ago. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want us to be real.”
The words hung between them, heavy and full of hope.
Y/n’s heart raced, the medal around her neck suddenly feeling lighter. She reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from Jimin’s face.
“Then let’s stop pretending,” she whispered back. “Let’s be real. Together.”
And just like that, the walls they’d built around their hearts began to crumble, leaving only the possibility of something real — something worth fighting for.
Jimin’s gaze softened, her breath catching just slightly. Slowly, she closed the distance between them, her hand reaching up to gently cup Y/n’s cheek.
Y/n’s heart hammered in her chest as their eyes locked, the world around them fading until there was nothing but the two of them.
Then, with a quiet, almost hesitant tenderness, Jimin leaned in.
Their lips met — soft at first, a question in the gentle press, then growing bolder as the hesitation melted away.
Y/n melted into the kiss, her arms slipping around Jimin’s shoulder, pulling her closer.
It was everything they hadn’t said, everything they’d both been holding back — raw and real and trembling with possibility.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling.
ᝰ.ᐟ when rising designer y/n jeon is forced to marry her rival, karina yu as pr for her upcoming fashion launch, the only thing that proves to be messier than their contract is their feelings.
ᝰ.ᐟ pairing. model!karina × fashion designer!fem!reader ᝰ.ᐟ genre. enemies to lovers, slow burn ᝰ.ᐟ warnings/tags. forced/fake marriage, kissing, cursing, mutual pining, jealous karina, unresolved tension, yall argue and bicker a LOT, one bed trope 🥳 feat. sana of twice && giselle of aespa
ᝰ.ᐟ wc 12.5k (not proofread and ik there’s sm typos cause i was working on this late nights. i apologize chat i’ll eventually get to them and fix them all 🥀)
ᝰ.ᐟ katty a birthday present for my goat ( @1luvkarina ) <3 it was so longg and very much overdue but… happy belated birthday again angel 💕
(🎧) now playing — distraction by kehlani.
masterlist.
TODAY SHOULD HAVE BEEN A good day. you slept great, had your breakfast, and the outfit you pictured in your head turned out perfect. your hair had no flyaways in sight.
but it was too good to be true. like everything always is.
now, you’re sitting in a conference room with your mother, smiling through gritted teeth.
it’s a smile that you’ve perfected over the years. one that says you hope no one notices how your eye twitches every now and then.
across the room, karina stands like a statue. her arms are crossed and her platinum blonde hair is pulled back so perfectly it looks like she stepped off the runway. she’s flawless, and let's be real. probably completely miserable.
there’s a strange magnetic pull about her. something about the way she carries herself that makes everyone else feel like they should be privileged to be in her presence. the cameras love her. the media loves her. and for some reason, they all buy the faux perfection she’s selling.
you, however? not so much.
karina has been in your life as long as you can remember. mostly because your mothers despise each other with their entire souls. they’ve spent decades one upping each other at every fashion show, gala, and event. your mother says karina’s family is all about “safe and boring designs” while karina’s mom says your family’s work is “overrated and hard to look at.”
you’re the only daughter from the “party” family who only made it big because of your name. karina’s the “cold, robotic model” who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else than in front of a camera, but somehow that just makes her even more untouchable.
you’re trying to launch your own fashion line while dealing with enough press coverage about your wild nights out. so yeah. this marriage? definitely not on your to do list.
but yet here you are. forced into this contract and forced to pretend everything is fine. not to mention, forced to marry a girl you literally cannot stand.
just because your pr teams and families decided it was time for an “image overhaul.” apparently, a marriage between the rebellious daughter of a famous designer and the perfect, untouchable model would sell better than any brand deal.
“you really have to look so depressed? we’re about to sign a contract that will change both our lives and you can’t even pretend to be at least a little happy?” karina’s voice is sharp and direct but there’s an edge beneath it that makes you want to throw something at her. she’s glaring at you now.
“excuse me? maybe i don’t think pretending is worth it. i’m not the one trying to act like this is a dream.” you snap, your grip tightening around the pen.
the blonde haired girl rolls her eyes, leaning back in her chair. "you’re not the only one stuck in this, y/n. but maybe if you didn’t make a mess of your career by partying every weekend, we wouldn’t be sitting here."
she glances towards your mother. "oh, and your brand’s in trouble, isn’t it? before the first launch. a little too much wild behavior?"
the nerve.
you want to snap back, you really do, but there’s no point. she’s baiting you and you know it. besides, you’ve had this fight in your head a thousand times already. you know she thinks you’re a mess and you know she thinks she’s untouchable.
"don’t act like you’re any better. you’re perfect all the time. isn’t that exhausting?” you mutter, feeling the sting of her words.
“maybe. but at least i’m not the one sabotaging my future. let’s just get this over with.” she gestures to the paper where both of your names are already neatly printed.
you stare at the page for a long while, watching your name against the white paper. your whole life is about to change. again. but this time, there’s no turning back.
"fine.” you say, voice colder than you expected. you sign your name harshly like the pen could stab through the paper (and the paper is karina).
karina follows you with the slightest flicker of hesitation in her eyes. but it’s gone before you can grasp it, replaced once more by that perfect smile you hate.
“there. we’re done.”
“yep. we’re done.” you mutter, tossing the pen down.
the ink dries and neither of you are looking at each other but the realization of the situation dawns on both of you.
there’s a quick, awkward handshake. and then it’s over. at least for now.
───────────────────────
you’re in the backseat of the car, soft hum of the engine doing nothing to calm your nerves. your mom sits across from you with her eyes glued to her phone as if your world isn’t about to explode. her fingers click the screen with precision, completely ignoring the fact that your life is being tossed into the fire. again.
you think back to the past few days. the whirlwind of meetings, press conferences and forced smiles, and contracts you had no choice but to sign. now you’re on your way to the penthouse. the penthouse. the one you’re supposed to share with karina. the girl who probably wouldn’t spare a second glance at you if the press wasn’t currently making you two out to be the next power couple.
“this is ridiculous, mom. i hate this. this whole thing.” you mutter, letting your head fall against the cold glass window while watching the city pass by. your mom doesn’t even look up.
“you don’t have a choice, sweetheart. you need to get your career back on track and this marriage will make the media forget all the mess that you’ve been in.” she says. it’s not in a mean way but it’s that tone of voice she always uses when she thinks she knows better than everyone else. especially you.
you roll your eyes because you’re tired, and honestly, the last thing you need right now is a lecture on how this could be the best thing for you. “i wasn’t asking for a lecture, mom. i’m just saying — i can’t stand her. we’ve hated each other for years.”
she lets out a sigh. one that makes you feel like she’s already heard this a hundred times. and while she probably has, it doesn’t change how you feel. “i know you don’t get along with karina, but you’re both professionals. this is business. nothing more, nothing less.”
“yeah, well, it sure doesn’t feel like business. we’re basically being sold as a brand now. it’s not even real.” you shoot back in a frustrated tone.
“of course it’s not real. but you’re going to make it real. you’re a designer, y/n. this is what we do. we sell ideas. you’ve always known how to sell an image.” she says, tone softening but you can still hear that undertone that you can never lose from her.
“great. so now i’m selling myself? i didn’t know that was the plan.” you say, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.
your mom finally glances at you. “this isn’t forever, y/n. just… don’t make it harder than it has to be. karina’s a beautiful, talented woman. she’s not as bad as you think.”
“oh, trust me, she’s exactly as bad as i think.” you mutter, staring at the city lights flickering past. you’re already picturing her standing in that penthouse with her perfect, stupid blonde hair. you hate her.
but your mom is right about one thing. you don’t have a choice. at least not anymore. the car slows, tires scraping against the pavement as it turns into a sleek, minimalist building with floor to ceiling windows. your new “home.” you hate the idea of it already.
“here we are. you’re going to be fine, sweetheart.” your mom announces, looking out the window like it’s some beautiful moment.
you don’t feel okay. you feel like running miles away in your louboutins, iggy azalea style.
but you don’t say anything. instead, you just get out of the car, heels clicking on the marble floor as you step into your future. and apparently, karina’s future too.
the lobby is so silent it’s almost unnerving. clean lines and marble floors with chrome accents. it’s gorgeous, definitely. but it’s also soulless. exactly the kind of place you would expect karina to live in.
you’re barely through the door before a concierge appears, offering a smile and a clipboard for you to sign.
you print your name quickly, barely glancing at it. another contract, another deal.
"your wife is already upstairs." the concierge says politely, emphasizing the word wife.
you don't even correct him. you just nod and head towards the private elevator, heart hammering against in your chest in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with excitement.
when the doors open to the penthouse floor, you step out. and karina is already there.
she's standing in the middle of the massive living room, arms crossed, eyebrows arched. her hair is still pulled back into that same sleek bun, not a strand out of place. does that shit not hurt?
but she looks exactly like you pictured her in the car. annoyingly perfect.
you barely have time to process the room before she opens her mouth.
"what took you so long?" she snaps.
you stare at her, already exhausted. “really? that's the first thing you're gonna say to me?"
karina shrugs like she’s already bored with you. "i mean, some of us are trying to be professional about this."
you roll your eyes so hard that it’s a miracle that they don’t get stuck. "yeah because nothing says professional like fake smiling your way through a forced marriage. stop saying that, karina.”
"you could at least pretend to be grateful. you needed this more than i did.” she shoots back.
you step further into the room, ignoring the way her words sting. "oh, i’m sorry. i must have missed the part where you were a victim here. must be hard being the golden child of the industry."
karina scoffs. it’s a sharp and humorless sound. "and it must be so hard being the family disappointment."
your mouth drops open. "wow. you didn’t even hesitate with that one."
"i call it like i see it.” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder like she’s already won.
you let out a laugh devoid of humor, crossing your arms. "good to know the fake marriage is off to a great start."
for a moment, the two of you just stand there glaring at eachother like you’re about to launch into round two. and honestly? you would — if something over karina’s shoulder didn’t catch your eye.
you squint, stepping around her to get a better look into the side hallway.
and then you see it.
one bed.
one massive, king sized bed. centered neatly in one room.
your stomach drops.
"wait. is that… is that our bed?” you say slowly, blinking like maybe you’re hallucinating. karina turns lazily to look, face the definition of innocence. "oh, did you think we'd have separate beds? how cute."
"cute?! we have to share a bed?!” you basically shriek, spinning back towards her.
"it's king size. plenty of room. just… stay on your side.” she says it like that solves everything. like you’re supposed to be relieved about it.
you stare at her, absolutely baffled. "i'm going to lose my mind."
karina just smirks, stepping past you like this is all just some big joke to her. "then hurry up and unpack. you’re already late."
you don't even have any words. how could you think of any in this situation?
so you just stand there, fists clenched, watching her disappear down the hallway like she owns the place (she does. a little). you hope she sleeps on the couch tonight. and the night after that. and so on.
you turn back to look at the bed again, your future flashing before your eyes.
welcome to your new life.
and unfortunately for you? this is only the beginning.
───────────────────────
you step out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your chest. the bathroom is massive but whst you noticed first were the two sinks. side by side. like this is some romantic couple getaway and not your impending doom.
you eye the counter and immediately claim the left sink, unpacking your skincare bag.
you’ve just finished patting serum into your cheeks when the door creaks open and you hear the telltale sound of slippers on tile. you don’t look. you already know.
she glides to the right sink without a word with her toothbrush in hand. like this is normal. like this isn’t your bathroom now too.
you glance over once. just long enough to catch the soft smirk on her face.
“what.” you snap.
“nothing.” she says through a mouthful of toothpaste, brushing like she’s in a colgate commercial. “you just take so long.”
you scoff. “because i have a skincare routine.”
“most people do skincare before they shower.”
you pause and turn slowly. “what the fuck did you just say?”
karina gives you a blank look like you’re the crazy one. “before.”
you gasp. “you do your skincare before you wash your body?”
“yeah?”
you stare at her, completely stunned. “what are you, a war criminal?”
“it makes sense—”
“no it doesn’t! you wash it all off. that’s like brushing your teeth before drinking orange juice!”
“okay well, it’s not like i’m using bee venom and fish eggs. some of us keep it simple.” she spits and rinses her mouth, casually grabbing mouthwash.
“coming from someone who used apricot scrub in high school.”
she gasps. “you did not just bring that up.”
“oh, i did. i remember. you had texture on your cheeks for a whole semester.”
“and now i have a chanel campaign. guess it worked out.” the blonde responds, slamming her mouthwash down.
“still. if you didn’t willingly destroy your skin barrier you wouldn’t have this much to say about mine.”
“you literally steamed your face with boiling water in high school.”
you spin towards her with wide eyes. “that was ONE TIME—”
“you looked like a tomato.”
“you exfoliated with kylie skin!”
“it was natural!”
“IT HAD WALNUTS IN IT!”
you’re both standing there now, halfway through your routines and glaring at each other.
“just— stay on your side.” she reminds you.
“i am on my side.”
you both finish in tense silence, bathroom radiating with the scent of toothpaste and passive aggression. when she spits into the sink, you do too. when she opens the drawer for cotton pads, you grab yours quicker. it’s petty.
eventually, she finishes first, walking back into the bedroom. you follow two minutes later and she’s already in bed. not just in bed. she’s hogging the comforter. no pillow barrier. no separation.
you stop in your tracks. “karina.”
“what.” she says flatly, eyes closed.
“no.”
“yes.”
“we talked about this.”
“you talked. i ignored you.”
“karina.”
“what?” she’s still not even facing you. laying on her side but curled under your side of the blanket.
“pillow barrier. peace treaty.” you remind her, climbing in and aggressively yanking the comforter. “we agreed.”
“you agreed.” she mumbles.
“well you’re cosigning the agreement.” you say, tugging harder.
“you’re doing too much.”
“you’re so annoying.”
you both have a death grip on the blanket, refusing to look at each other. then finally, you give it one final yank that sends it perfectly into the middle.
“fine.” you say.
“fine.” she repeats. annoying.
a minute passes. then her knee brushes yours.
you both freeze before violently scooting in opposite directions.
at least you’re able to fall asleep.
───────────────────────
you’re sitting on the edge of your shared bed in a robe, phone propped against a bottle of setting spray as aeri stares back at you mid bite of her yogurt.
“i’m just saying.” you whine. “i haven’t eaten yet and i feel like i’m being exploited. this is child labor.”
“you’re twenty three.”
“and?”
karina, who is currently sitting at the vanity while a stylist infects the area with hairspray to set her hair, doesn’t even glance up. “you’re overreacting. you’ll survive a few hours without toast.”
you scoff. “says the person who stole the entire comforter last night.”
she glances at you in the mirror, arching a perfectly filled in brow. “stole? you gave it up.”
“i did not.”
“you said, and i quote, ‘fine, take it. i hope you sweat hoe.’”
you look at aeri. “see what i deal with?”
aeri smiles, spinning her spoon around. your pout returns at the thought of food. “you two are unbearable. can you both please look hot and act cordial for like, one hour today?”
karina lets out a hum that’s annoyingly calm. “i’m always cordial. it’s her that keeps trying to start shit before ten am.”
“i’m not starting anything.”
“you’re accusing me of blanket theft.”
“it’s not accusations if it’s true!”
“be grateful that i didn’t threaten to put my cold feet on you.”
“first, ew! second, you did put your cold feet on me.”
she shrugs. “then we’re even.”
you roll your eyes and drop back on the bed before groaning dramatically. “i’m gonna die before the event. tell them i was too pretty for this world.”
aeri rolls her eyes through the screen. “stand up and get in the damn dress i picked or i’m making you listen to karina’s stylist permanently.”
the blonde haired girl smirks as the makeup artist starts dabbing concealer under her eyes. “we’d get along great.”
you lift your phone just to glare at her. “she’d dump you after ten minutes.”
“she’d take one look at your crusty lip balm collection and cry.”
you gasp. “you don’t even own lip balm.”
“i do. i just don’t lose it every three hours.”
a stylist walks past, setting a dress over the bed with a whispered “two minutes.” you sigh dramatically and push yourself up.
“okay, i’m going. if i don’t make it, tell my story.”
“i’ll tell them you died trying to sabotage me.”
“i’ll tell them you use skincare before you shower.” you say before shuffling off to the bathroom with the dress draped over your arm, grumbling about lack of food and betrayal by the entire world.
“i’m still here, by the way. just waiting for you to complain about something else.” aeri calls out, voice echoing from the phone.
you stick your hand out of the doorway and flip her off.
the stylist laughs. “is she always like this?”
karina doesn’t answer right away. her gaze flicks towards the bathroom door before she shrugs. “only when she’s being dramatic.”
“…so, always?” someone mutters.
karina just smiles, eyes back on the mirror.
you enter the room again a few minutes later, tugging at the waist of the dress and already shaking your head. “i don’t know. i feel like an ugly bridesmaid.”
the fabric’s nice. sure. the color’s fine. but it’s not doing anything for your mood or your ego. and definitely not for the cameras.
karina glances over at you lazily. the stylist’s still curling a piece of her hair but her eyes move. down, then back up. she doesn’t say anything at first.
then she speaks. “you don’t like it?”
“i feel like i should be holding a bouquet and crying.”
she looks you over again, this time more directly. then she casually nods toward the rack.
“try the black one.”
you pause. “that one’s yours.”
“no, mine’s the velvet one. that’s silk.”
you look at it. its off shoulder and fitted around the waist and hips.
“i’m not trying to match with you.”
“we’re not matching.”
“we’re both in black.”
“we’re both breathing too. wanna fight about that as well?”
you shoot her a look. “you suggested it.”
“you’ll look better in it.” she says flatly.
there’s a silence that you don’t know how to fill yet. so you just walk over to the rack and grab it.
when you disappear into the bathroom again, aeri’s voice rings from the phone.
“she does this shit on purpose.” she says.
karina doesn’t respond. instead, she glances down at her phone with a tight jaw and reaches for her lip gloss.
when you come back out, you immediately busy yourself by adjusting the straps and smoothing the fabric over your thighs.
her eyes do that one thing again. they’re barely lingering, like she’s afraid of being caught. there’s no reaction or words. only a look.
you turn towards her. “too much?”
she lifts one shoulder in a half shrug gesture. “better than the bridesmaid one.”
“that’s not a compliment.”
“didn’t say it was.”
you scoff but the heat in your face betrays you. she doesn’t say anything else, grabbing her heels before standing and brushing past you without another glance.
you stay behind for a second then follow after her, grabbing the fine chain of jewelry on the rack as you go. the miu miu pendant gleams in your hand. it was delivered by the same stylist earlier.
karina’s already at the front door of the penthouse by the time you’re slipping into your heels. she doesn’t wait.
“clock’s ticking, princess.”
you roll your eyes and grab your coat, catching up with her at the elevator.
“i still think they should’ve let us go separately.” you mutter as you press the ground floor button.
“they want a show and we happen to be one.” she says simply.
“hey. can you put this on?”
she blinks, clearly surprised. “what?”
“the necklace.” you mutter, holding it out without looking at her.
she takes it without a word but there’s something in the way she lifts her hands behind you.
you tilt your head slightly, exhaling quietly.
her fingers graze the back of your neck and you flinch. not because it’s cold, but because it’s her. you’re close enough to feel the warmth of her breath as she fastens the clasp.
“there.” she murmurs.
you glance at her reflection in the elevator wall. she’s already stepped back with her arms crossed. like she didn’t just touch you like that.
“thanks.” you say flatly, adjusting the pendant.
“could’ve said please.” she replies quickly.
“i also could’ve asked someone else.”
she hums like she’s unbothered but you see her glance at your lips before she looks away.
then the elevator dings.
you both walk out in sync, heels clicking against the floor.
“wives. stunning as ever.” the concierge greets with a knowing grin.
you groan. “he’s doing it again.”
karina offers a smile that’s too charming. “he’s just doing his job.”
you elbow her, but not too hard. “stop feeding into it.”
“you asked me to help with your necklace in an elevator. that’s wife behavior.”
“it was for the brand. don’t make me throw my heel at you.”
“right. for the brand.”
the car’s already waiting for you outside. the driver opens the door and your “wife” slips in first. you follow, adjusting your coat and smoothing the fabric of your dress as you settle beside her.
“i’m not holding your hand.” you say.
“wasn’t asking.”
“…unless someone asks for a picture.” she adds casually.
“fake couple of the year.”
“we’d win.” she says without hesitation.
you sigh and glance at her outfit. it’s good. like, annoyingly good. you hate how good she looks. or rather, you hate that she looks good standing next to you. like this whole thing is real.
the city speeds past the window in blurs of warm light and for a few seconds, neither of you speak. the only sound is the click of karina’s nails against her screen and the occasional sound of fabric shifting when your legs accidentally brush.
she’s warm beside you and it’s annoying.
you glance over and realize she’s scrolling through the event seating chart, already planning where to sit and how to pose.
you on the other hand, just want to make it through the evening without getting caught drinking too much champagne or rolling your eyes on camera.
you pull your phone out and text aeri under your coat.
you
if i disappear halfway through the party it’s because i pushed her in the fountain
aeri 🧸
Y/N U CAN’T
you
u act like she doesn’t deserve it 🙄
aeri 🧸
this would be a perfect enemies to lovers kdrama 🥹
you
blocked
the blonde girl glances over then, lips barely twitching. “texting your fan club?”
“plotting your demise.”
she finally looks up and when your eyes meet, it’s brief, but it lingers. long enough to make you shift in your seat and look away first.
ew. you hate that.
the car slows outside of the venue, flashes already going off like the cameras were waiting specifically for this car to pull up. and honestly, they probably were.
your phone buzzes again.
aeri 🧸
make her laugh
yk they’ll eat it up
btw you guys look scary when you’re both silent
but its rlly hot
two hot scary gays 🤤
you sigh, slipping the phone away as the driver stops the car.
karina straightens her spine and adjusts her coat collar, fingers brushing the edge of her neck “ready?”
“don’t touch me.”
she huffs a laugh. “you wish i would.”
another fake smile. but your neck still tingles where her fingers were and her gaze lingers just a little too long before you both step into the light.
the flashes are disorienting at first.
“karina yu! over here!”
“y/n, who are you wearing?”
“is it true the two of you— ?!”
questions fly like migrating birds but you keep walking. you’ve done this before. being born into this environment taught you how to smile just right. chin tilted slightly, eyes soft but unreadable, lips parted enough to look like you might be about to say something scandalous.
karina walks half a step behind you at first, hands tucked into the pockets of her long black coat. she’s practically glowing under the camera lights. you hate that you notice. hate even more how well your silhouettes match.
she leans in slightly. “you’re slouching.”
you don’t look at her. “i’ll stab you with my heel right here.”
still, you straighten up.
the event handler ushers you both up the carpeted stairs and into the line for press photos. you stand with your hands at your sides. she shifts closer, barely brushing your shoulder. cameras shout your names and the lights start again.
her smile is elegant. yours is more cocky.
“closer, please! give us one for the fans!” someone calls.
you exhale through your nose. you really don’t want to, but karina’s already doing it, stepping closer like it’s nothing and brushing your arm like this isn’t war.
she leans toward your ear, voice soft so the mics won’t catch it. “you want them to think you’re the reluctant one or the mean one tonight?”
you turn your head. “i am the mean one.”
click.
the camera catches the moment your gaze meets hers and it’s way too intense and way too pretty. and you know it’s going to be on some fan edit by midnight with a stupid caption like “the way they look at eachother.”
you’re about to step away when someone from the pr team catches you both.
“quick interview. play nice.” they say.
you force your expression into something neutral as you and karina are ushered toward the mic.
the interviewer is smiling so wide that it’s kinda scary. like she’s so excited to be the one who landed the two of you. “y/n! karina! you both look absolutely incredible tonight. tell me— was the coordination planned?”
you open your mouth, but karina beats you to it with a sugary voice. “not at all. we just think alike.”
“scary, isn’t it?” you say with a dry smile.
the interviewer laughs. “there’s been so much buzz around you lately. everyone’s obsessed with your chemistry. how does it feel to have the internet calling you the most stylish couple of the year?”
karina glances at you and hums. “i think we’ll let the outfits speak for themselves.”
you cross your arms. “speak louder than her, at least.”
karina doesn’t react. she tilts her head and looks at you like you’re a puzzle that she can’t figure out. “i think i’m getting used to the sound.”
the interviewer blinks like she caught something in that moment but she keeps it moving.
“and last question. karina, would you ever consider walking in one of y/n’s shows?”
you raise an eyebrow and turn toward her, clearly amused.
she barely hesitates. “if she designs something worth wearing.”
you scoff. “guess i’ll have to start designing dresses with no personalities.”
she smiles with teeth. “perfect. you’ll have something to wear too.”
the interviewer is too stunned to speak for half a second before nervously laughing. “you two are—” she gestures vaguely, unsure of what to say. “unreal.”
you just smile sweetly, grabbing karina’s arm for the camera. “we know.”
there’s more flashes and buzz. the interview wraps up and you’re both guided into the main venue, shoulders bumping as you step inside.
you don’t look at her again but you feel her looking.
the event is dripping in excess. chandeliers like galaxies hang overhead with velvet walls and champagne towers. you fall in step in beside karina and immediately spot the flashes of press still hovering near the entrance, but you’re safe for now. it’s more exclusive inside.
karina doesn’t say a word when a waiter passes, simply grabbing two glasses of champagne and handing you one. you take it without looking at her.
you wander towards the corner, already recognizing half a dozen industry faces. that one creative director of some company you can’t stand. there’s a singer with their latest muse on their arm. and, of course, you can’t forget the permanently lurking cameras pretending to capture all the “natural moments.”
you’re mid sip when karina’s hand brushes your collarbone and you freeze.
“what are you—”
“your necklace.” she murmurs. her fingers are careful, almost tender even, adjusting the pendant so it lies flat.
“it was crooked.”
you give the blonde girl a skeptical look. “and that bothered you?”
she doesn’t answer, offering you a slow blink and dropping her hand like it didn’t leave heat trailing down your spine. before you can say anything else, a voice steals your attention.
“y/n, you look beautiful. who let you leave the house looking like that and not put you on a runway?” it’s sana, also known as the gossip queen. she’s sipping something from a martini glass and already looping her arm through yours.
“fashion’s newest hostage. have you met my prison guard?” you deadpan.
karina lifts her glass in an idle toast. “charmed.”
sana laughs. “she’s prettier in person. meaner, too. i like her.”
“don’t encourage her.” you mutter.
you’re pulled into more greetings and cheek kisses. karina floats a few feet away, effortlessly slipping into conversations. she doesn’t hog attention. it’s just magnetized to her. designers ask who she’s wearing, some leaning in too close. you try not to look but she finds your eyes through the crowd every few minutes like she’s checking if you’re still there.
you don’t know why that makes you feel steadier.
at one point she’s beside you again, half empty glass dangling from her fingers. your own drink is gone. hou’re about to gesture to a passing waiter when she wordlessly hands you her glass.
you hesitate.
she raises an eyebrow. “scared of my lip gloss?”
you take it and sip slowly. it’s still cold, barely touched.
she doesn’t look away and you pretend not to care.
───────────────────────
the event drags on. hours feel like days. eventually, you’re pulled into one last photo and handshake with someone who couldn’t name a single piece your entire bloodline has designed.
by the time you get back into the car, your heels are throbbing. karina settles in beside you with a sigh that you swear is real.
“finally.” she mutters.
“thought you liked playing dress up.”
“i like the check that comes after.”
you don’t have the energy to roll your eyes. you tilt your head against the window, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
“you did good tonight.” she says softly.
you turn your head. “what?”
her gaze is forward, voice quiet. “you looked good and didn’t throw a drink on anyone. impressive.”
“…thanks?”
she shrugs. “don’t get used to it.”
you laugh under your breath and let your head fall against the seat.
when the both of you step into the penthouse, you’re done. the coat’s halfway off your figure, heels discarded by the door. you kick them towards the corner and shuffle across the floor.
karina follows wordlessly, no more interest in bickering with you.
you flop onto the bed. your shared bed. “don’t touch me.” you mumble into the blanket.
karina walks into the closet and you hear the zipper of her dress a moment later.
you don’t mean to turn your head. you don’t mean to look.
but you do.
half of her form is a shadow, hair falling out of its updo as she changes into an oversized shirt and nothing else. she effortlessly takes out her extensions and you see the curve of her back.
then she’s gone again, disappearing into the bathroom.
you stay where you are, face half buried in the comforter and dress bunched awkwardly at your waist. you can hear the shower start a few moments later, water pressure shaking the pipes like the penthouse itself is sighing along with you.
you close your eyes. not to sleep, but just to rest.
the sound of the shower doesn’t stop you from thinking about tonight. no amount of cameras or flashes could make you forget about her hand adjusting your necklace with that softness.
you hear the water turn off and stir, blinking yourself upright again.
when she steps out of the bathroom, she’s wrapped in a white towel.
she glances at you for just a second, eyes flicking from your face to your legs and back, before turning toward the closet.
“don’t slip. if you bust your ass on the floor, i’m not carrying you.” you mutter, standing and peeling off your dress. “you’d be lucky to touch me.”
you scoff, already walking past her. “delusional.” you shut the bathroom door before she can respond.
the shower still holds some warmth, and you sink into it like you’ve been waiting all night.
you dry off quickly after and walk back into the room in one of your own oversized shirts.
karina’s already in bed, lying on her back and scrolling through her phone with the brightness way too high. you flop into your side.
she doesn’t move. “you always smell like strawberries and flowers.”
“are you sniffing me right now?”
“i’m just saying. you always do.” she shrugs it off, but there’s a flicker of something in her voice.
you roll over, facing away. “stop being weird.”
she doesn’t respond immediately, but the glow of her phone finally dims.
you hear her exhale through her nose aou hear the sheets shift. her knee brushes yours under the comforter. barely.
“you snore.” she says way too casually.
“do not.”
“you did last night.”
“you’re making that up.”
“i should’ve recorded it.”
“you’re sick.”
“you like it.”
you do. and you hate how much you do.
but instead you groan and throw the comforter over your head. “goodnight.”
you hear her turn onto her side behind you. except this time, she’s closer than before.
“night, petal.”
you’re still smiling when you fall asleep.
THINGS START TO SHIFT WITHOUT warning. or perhaps the warning signs were always there, hidden behind the way she says your name and looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching.
it begins with the press. you know, photoshoots, events and interviews. before, it was your names side by side in headlines some skepticism, but now they become one. the jeon-yu duo. they refer to you as y/n yu now.
“natural chemistry.” one reporter calls it, voice dripping with fascination. obviously, karina doesn’t flinch. she’s used to pretending for the cameras.
but lately, it’s not pretending anymore. at least not completely.
the first time it catches you off guard is during a vogue shoot.
you’re halfway through a pose when the photographer sighs and mutters something about needing “more intimacy.” karina’s arm slides around you without any hesitation, hand resting against your side while her thumb grazes the bare skin above your hipbone.
she doesn’t even look at you. then she leans in and murmurs “relax, petal.” quiet and just for you.
you don’t relax, but you don’t pull away either.
then it was the variety interview.
you’re both seated across from a roundtable of hosts. she’s in a tailored white blazer with her hair down for once. the conversation trails from your projects into your “new life together.”
“you seem more in sync now. is it just practice?” one host says, half teasing.
“she knows me. it’s not practice, it’s routine.” karina replies easily, hand resting lightly on your thigh under the table. you think it’s just a reminder to behave.
you almost snap at her, until she slides her thumb in one slow circle over your knee.
you say nothing, letting her speak for both of you.
at some point, the edits go viral. there’s loads of fan compilations and screenshots. popular ones are the clips of the two of you holding hands on red carpets or sipping from the same glass at the afterparty. you’re drunk in that clip, dress hiked up slightly as you tip your glass of champagne to karina’s lips. she takes a sip without hesitation even though your lipstick is smudged onto the glass.
“do you guys even like each other?” a designer asks one night somewhere between events.
she smirks and speaks. “you’d be surprised.”
you don’t say anything. you’re still replaying the way her hand skimmed down your back when she zipped up your dress. there was no reason for her to touch you like that. there was a stylist.
but she did it anyway.
now, you’re exhausted. today’s shoot ran two hours over because the photographer was indecisive. apparently the lighting was wrong and your heels were five inches too tall. and most annoying of it all? karina’s perfume was clinging to your dress and they made you retouch your face six times.
when you return to the penthouse, it’s past midnight. you kick off your shoes so hard they hit the baseboard.
karina tosses her jacket onto the back of the couch with a sigh. “don’t throw things.”
“don’t act like you care.”
she pauses in front of the mirror, removing her earrings with the elegance of someone still being watched. “i don’t.”
“great. so stop telling me what to do.” you tug your hair free from its clip.
it’s silent for a moment before she talks again. “you looked okay.”
you scoff. “oh, good. yay! thanks for the approval, karina. must be so nice being you.” you head towards the living room, shedding your earrings with annoyance and tossing them onto the coffee table.
she turns to look at you, leaning against the island with crossed arms. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“you know. you could walk onto a red carpet in a trash bag and still make the best dressed list.”
“you think this is easy?” she asks, voice dropping.
“i think you’ve had everything handed to you on a silver fucking platter.”
“you don’t know shit about what i’ve had handed to me.”
you step closer towards the blonde. “oh, please. spare me the sob story. you’ve been the golden child since birth.”
“and you’ve been the mess everyone has to clean up after.”
that stops you.
it’s not the words, no. it’s the way she says it. like it’s been waiting on her tongue. it felt like she meant it.
your throat tightens. “wow.”
karina exhales, but she doesn’t take it back. she looks at you, tense and tired and so clearly not just angry at tonight.
“don’t act like you don’t know it. you show up late and roll your eyes in interviews. you literally can’t go one week without some crazy headline— and somehow i’m the one that’s fake? at least i show the hell up.”
your voice cracks before you can stop it. “don’t say that shit, karina. i do show up. i showed up when i didn’t want to. hell, i signed the same papers you did. i’ve been smiling through all of this shit while you just stand there looking sad and acting like i should be grateful to be in this with you.”
“you should be.”
your breath stops.
her eyes widen like she didn’t mean to say that, not like that, but it’s too late. you heard it.
you swallow. “fuck you.”
she looks at you like she’s stuck between wanting to fix it and wanting to say more.
you shake your head, throat burning and vision blurry for a second too long. “god, you’re—”
“what?” she snaps. “say it.”
“you don’t care about anyone but yourself. that’s why nobody actually likes you. they just want what you have. ” you say with a shaky voice.
her expression falters. you regret it the moment you say it, but you don’t take it back. neither of you do. not tonight.
she turns and walks down the hall.
you drop onto the couch and let the silence swallow you.
───────────────────────
the morning after, the apartment is still. the sun bleeds through the beige curtains, casting soft gold across the floor. you’re still in last night’s clothes, curled pathetically on the couch underneath a throw blanket that doesn’t even cover your legs.
you didn’t sleep much. at all, if that.
you hear her before you see her, footsteps leading into the kettle starting in the kitchen.
you stay on the couch, eyes half lidded while you fling an arm over your forehead. you can hear every little sound of movement, especially her phone buzzing on the counter.
then you hear her speak. you almost don’t register it until you realize that she’s not calling you. she’s on the phone.
“…she’s not like that.”
“no, she’s not. she’s difficult, yeah. but not— she’s not a mess.”
your stomach turns. her voice is low, but not cold. tired, maybe. it’s soft in a way that you’ve never heard when it’s directed at someone else.
“i know what people say about her, but it’s not true. she cares. she still tries when no one gives her credit for it.”
you can practically hear whoever’s on the other line doubting her.
“yeah, well. maybe i care. maybe that’s the fucking problem.”
your heart stutters and you shift slightly. the couch creaks.
fuck.
her breath catches in the kitchen.
she doesn’t say anything else. you hear the sound of her hanging up before she stands still for a long time. you stay where you are.
finally, she leaves the kitchen. her footsteps trail off toward the bedroom and the silence returns, leaving you alone with your racing heart and thoughts.
and that’s when you realize that something has already changed. you just don’t know what to do with it yet.
so you don’t bring it up.
not when she walks out of the bedroom hours later, dressed in a towel with her hair slicked back like she’s waiting for you to ask what you heard.
you don’t.
instead, you get up, allowing the day pass with minimal words exchanged. the silence between you is no longer hostile. it’s unfamiliar.
and when night falls, rain begins to as well. you’re both silent in bed again. there’s no pillow barrier this time, but your backs still face each other. you’re texting aeri.
you
you up?
we fought last night
like bad
she starts typing.
aeri 🧸
u two need to make out alr
wait til she begs tho
hollon ima call u
you let out a half silent laugh. it’s loud enough to make karina stir.
“you’re loud when you text.” she mumbles into her pillow.
“you’re annoying when you exist. stop being nosey.” you shoot back at the blonde out of habit, but there’s no threat behind it. it’s soft.
“hard to ignore when you keep sighing like someone broke your heart.”
you roll over. “bold of you to assume you didn’t.”
her head turns, eyes catching yours in the faint moonlight. the rain gets louder.
a long moment passes before she speaks. “i’m not sorry for what i said.”
“i’m not either.”
then there’s a longer silence. you can only hear the sound of rain pattering against the window.
“but i didn’t mean all of it.” she adds.
you fully turn towards her now. “which part?”
she doesn’t look away. “the mess part. i was mad, but that doesn’t mean i was right.”
“i didn’t mean what i said either.”
karina watches you with an unreadable expression. then she nods slowly, like that’s enough for now.
you both lay there for a while. she shifts closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth between you.
you want to reach for it.
“are you still mad at me?”
you stare at her. she’s been barefaced for hours, and her voice isn’t even trying to be indifferent. it’s oddly cautious. you realize that no one sees this side of her but you.
you shake your head. “no. i’m just tired.”
her shoulders slump as silence envelops you once more.
“you’re really pretty when you’re not talking.” she says, barely teasing.
you scoff, pushing her hand away. but you’re smiling and she sees it.
she shifts closer under the covers and her knee brushes yours.
you could blame the heat under the blankets, or maybe even the leftover adrenaline from the fight. but when your eyes flick to her lips, it’s none of that.
she leans in. so do you.
her hand grazes your jaw, noses brushing against eachother. both of your eyes flutter shut.
then— your phone vibrates. loudly.
you both freeze, foreheads touching.
aeri 🧸 is calling…
“seriously?” she breathes before flopping back with a quiet for fuck’s sake.
you stare at the ceiling, heart pounding.
“i wasn’t going to kiss you.” she says suddenly.
you hum, half bitter. “sure.”
“i wasn’t.” she repeats, but she doesn’t sound sure anymore. you don’t believe her.
you answer the call and karina stays next to you the whole time, one arm folded behind her head as she stares up at the ceiling too. but the difference is, she looks like she’s waiting. waiting for the next moment. the next time you look at her the way you just did.
you can’t stop thinking about how she might’ve done it if aeri waited another second. and how much you kind of, maybe, really wanted her to.
THAT WAS THREE WEEKS AGO. you haven’t brought it up, and neither has she. which means you’ve been living in that silence where everything feels like it’s leading somewhere and neither of you are willing to admit it.
but the thing is, it changed everything. because nothing’s really happened since.
you haven’t gotten that close off camera again. not even close. she’s been soft ignoring you. you barely speak at events unless someone’s watching, but she still zips your dresses and straightens your necklaces like muscle memory.
and that brings you to now, the night before your official launch. you should be panicking. refreshing your notes. checking every tag on instagram. but instead, you’re at a ysl afterparty, buzzed off champagne and dressed to match karina.
she’s somewhere in the room in a structured black ysl suit. you’ve already taken the joint pictures for press.
so you decide to distract yourself. you’re standing near one of the tall glass walls, half lit by the glow of the city. it hits your face perfectly as you tell a chaotic story to a small circle of models and minor celebrities who are visibly enraptured by you.
“…and then i realized the room wasn’t even ours. we were in the wrong suite the entire time.”
laughter erupts, drinks clinking against eachother. you’re grinning with warm cheeks, tongue looser than usual.
you don’t notice the guy step a little closer until his voice cuts in low and playful. “you always cause this much of a scene?”
you look at him, a little thrown off. he’s tall and polished, the kind of man publicists love to pose you next to. his hand grazes yours when he takes your empty glass, setting it on the nearby table.
“only when it’s fun.” you say breezily, but your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.
“i feel like i should get a warning.” he says, tilting his head, and then he catches your hand. he lifts it and brings it to his lips with a kind of precision that makes your brows lift.
you let him. well. sort of.
he kisses your knuckles gently. you’re not even looking at him. you’re looking at karina in the reflection in the glass.
she’s across the room between two editors, nodding politely at whatever they’re saying. but her gaze is stuck on you. her lips ate pressed into a line that doesn’t match the outfit she’s wearing. then she starts walking.
“excuse me. she’s needed.” karina says smoothly, appearing at your side like she’s always belonged there.
“by who?” the guy says with a chuckle, clearly trying to keep the moment alive.
“by me.” she says quickly. her voice isn’t playful. it’s sharp enough to slice through the air between you.
her arm wraps around your waist then she pulls you away. you let her.
“you okay? you look a little tense.” you ask lightly the second you’re around the corner and near the exit.
she doesn’t answer, turning to face you.
you lean against the wall with a teasing smirk. “what? you jealous?”
karina’s eyes narrow. “no.”
“oh, come on. he was cute.” you continue.
“you’re not taking this seriously.”
your smile slips. “what?”
“this. us. you don’t take it seriously.” she says, gesturing between you.
you stare at her. “that’s funny. cause i’ve been showing up to every event. standing next to you and leaning into every touch like this is real.”
“it’s not just about events.”
“then what is it about, karina? because when the cameras go off, you vanish. you avoid me. don’t act like i’m the one faking it.”
“god, you don’t get it.”
“i don’t. i really don’t. because you never say anything. you just look. leave me. or pull me away like you own me.”
“what if i want to?”
you let out a breath.
karina steps closer and her voice drops. only you can hear it. “you’re not the only one confused by this. you think i haven’t wanted to kiss you since that night? i’ve been trying not to all night. but then you let him—”
“prove it.” you cut her off. “prove it then, karina.” you repeat breathlessly.
and then she leans in and kisses you. hard.
her hands cup your face, jaw tilting as her mouth meets yours like she’s been starving for this moment. your heart thuds in your ears as one hand snakes to your hip, thumb caressing it the same way it did in that photoshoot weeks ago.
you gasp against her mouth. she swallows it.
and then, just as suddenly, she breaks it. her eyes are wide when she steps back, mouth parted. she looks like she’s realizing something she can’t say out loud.
you don’t move. you just watch as she turns and walks off.
then you lean against the wall again, dizzy as you try to blink away the lightheaded feeling her lips left against yours.
she tastes like vanilla.
you fish your phone out of your bag, hand shaking.
you
aeri
karina just kissed me
you don’t even get to send a third message before aeri’s voice cuts through the air like she’s been waiting in the wings.
“oh my god, finally.”
you jump. “what— where did you come from?”
“i have ears. and i saw that. it was hot. but what the fuck took you two so long?”
you stare at her, searching for words. but your hands search for a glass. of anything. “she’s so— ugh.”
“she has a death wish, huh?” you say dramatically, eyes wide.
aeri laughs. “a fat crush. but go off.”
you throw a macaron at her. it bounces off her shoulder and lands somewhere under the couch, lost to the ysl afterparty dimension forever.
“i hate her so bad. she had to do that in a suit. with her hands on my—“ you groan, covering your face.
“say it. say ‘my waist.’” aeri says.
you screech into your hands.
“she kissed me like she meant it.”
“do you want her to do it again?”
“yes. and no. i wanna slap her.”
aeri nods, sipping from her own glass.
you groan. “this is your fault. you told me to wait til she begs. i was literally normal before i met you.”
“you’ve never been normal.” she says, patting your thigh. then she straightens suddenly, eyes lighting up.
“oh. my. god. that’s him. i have to go.”
“what?”
“that’s the actor from that french vampire show! he’s wearing the suit with the mesh undershirt. i have to go.”
“aeri—”
“drink water! look at his hair—“ she squeals, already walking away.
you’re left in a half lit corner, few drinks deep, dressed to match your fake wife who kissed you like you were her real one. and now you’re alone. again. you reach for another glass anyway.
───────────────────────
by the time your security appears at the exit with karina beside him, you’re definitely drunk. but you look good. like, really good.
and there’s definitely going to be a viral clip later of her hand wrapped around your waist as she guides you out the building in front of the flashing cameras. she holds you like you’re fragile. you smile like nothing’s wrong.
but karina sees everything. you stumble as you make it towards the entrance, fingers clinging to her jacket.
and she doesn’t say anything when the car door shuts and you slump back against the seat, barely holding yourself up.
her nails click against the screen as she opens her phone and sees it. the photo of your kiss. your first kiss.
it’s blurry and taken from a distance. but anyone can see how breathless you look as her hand cradles your jaw like it’s muscle memory.
the internet thinks it’s romantic. it starts trending immediately.
you’re still slouched against the seat, legs crossed and arms folded. you refuse to look at her. not after she kissed you like that and then walked off like it meant nothing.
you tell yourself it’s fine. that you’ve felt worse. but then she breathes and it’s like your whole body remembers.
karina sits beside you, perfectly fine in her suit. one hand rests against her thigh, the other one scrolling through her phone.
you can feel her looking through the photos. in your head, you know one of them is already trending.
“you’re going viral again.” she says coolly with the same lips that were on on yours twenty minutes ago.
“cool. add that to the list. ‘makes out with fake wife in public.’” you mutter. she doesn’t respond.
instead she leans back, exhaling like she’s already tired of this. as if dealing with you is exhausting. “you’re drunk.”
“wow, thanks for the update. next breaking story? you’re a coward.”
“you’re blowing it out of proportion.”
you scoff. “really? you kissed me like it meant something and then walked away like i had cooties.”
karina’s head turns slowly, exhaling. “cooties? y/n. god, you’re— such a problem.”
your eyes narrow. “then stop looking at me like you want to make it worse.”
she doesn’t answer. even though you want a verbal one, the way her jaw clenches is enough.
the car glides into the garage. and the second it stops, you’re out the door with your heels in hand. walking barefoot into the elevator like you’re on a mission. karina stares at them like she wants to take them for you.
you don’t wait for her. she still follows.
“you’re upset.”
“ding! next question.”
“because i kissed you?”
you spin on your heel. “because you always pull away, jimin.”
her name hangs between you. it’s the first time you’ve said it to her.
you can see her expression change.
“you always disappear. or worse, act like it didn’t happen. like i’m the one imagining shit.”
karina exhales. “we agreed not to make this complicated.”
“yeah? well guess what. you complicated it when you started looking at me like that.”
“like what?”
“like you felt something.”
her mouth opens then closes. then she backs you up without touching you until your spine hits the wall just outside of the bedroom.
“you think it’s easy for me? i told you i’ve wanted to kiss you since that night.”
“then do it again. if it mean nothing, do it again.” you glare. you’re not even sure if you’re making sense anymore.
her eyes drop down to your lips.
“you’re drunk.”
you shove past her. “like i said. coward.”
“spoiled brat.”
“you like it.”
“you wish.”
you get to the bedroom first. your fingers fumble with the zipper of your dress before you give up entirely.
karina walks in behind you.
you turn to face her, arms out. “you gonna help or keep staring like a creep?”
she crosses the room quietly, one hand lifting to the zipper. it slides down slowly, making your breath hitch.
your dress falls and then she turns, pulling the blanket back on the bed like she didn’t just undress you with her hands.
“bed.”
“make me.”
“you’re sleeping while standing up.”
“your fault.”
“you’re so annoying.”
“and you’re so obsessed with me that it’s embarrassing.”
karina looks at you and something in her expression falters. just for a second. then it’s gone.
she straightens up. “get in bed.”
you crawl in. she tucks the blanket over your legs. her fingers brush your bare thigh.
“you kiss everyone like that?” you ask.
“only the girls who drive me crazy.”
“mm. should’ve gone for him them.” you hum.
karina flexes her jaw. “i’m gonna sleep on the couch.”
“no you’re not.”
“you can’t stop me.”
“you kissed me first.”
“what does that have to do with anything?”
“nothing. everything.” you whisper. and then you both go quiet.
she stares at you for a moment. then she turns off the light. she stays beside you, but neither of you sleep for hours.
───────────────────────
“i feel like death.”
aeri doesn’t look up from her phone across from you, scrolling with her thumb. “but you look like a million dollars. and someone who’s about to have a phenomenal launch.”
“can you at least look at me when you compliment me? makes it feel authentic.” you roll your eyes.
she raises an eyebrow, giggling away at something, or someone on her phone.
“you are like papa.” you mutter once she completely ignores you.
“don’t compare me to your emotionally repressed wife.”
“fake wife.” you correct, stabbing your straw into the untouched iced coffee beside you.
“emphasis on fake. she kissed me like it was real and then left me painkillers on the nightstand like we’re married and going through a divorce.”
aeri just hums. it’s her way of saying you technically are without actually saying it.
“she didn’t even leave a note. not even a ‘good luck baby’ or something. don’t i deserve compensation for the way she tried to shove her tongue down my throat then disappeared?” you add, flopping dramatically against the back of the chair. your stylist audibly grumbles from behind you.
“maybe the pills were the note.”
you scoff. “aeri, be for real. he leaves me mints everyday. does that mean he’s in love with me too?”
you gesture to the man fixing your hair before crossing your arms.
“girl, i’m gay.” he says.
“but you treat me better than karina.”
“she’s gay too.” aeri deadpans.
you look at her. “okay? i’m just saying, being gay doesn’t make you a good person. or a good fake wife. stop defending her.”
your stylist muffles a laugh behind you.
“i’m not defending her.”
“you totally are. but it’s fine.” you sigh dramatically.
“you sound like you caught feelings.”
you glare at the pink haired girl before speaking. “what i better not catch is her walking in here like nothing happened.”
“and if she does?”
“you’re still defending her like she didn’t ghost me while we share a bed.”
“you mean the california king?”
“our shared bed.” you repeat, sipping your coffee.
aeri begins scrolling again. “i’m actually kind of obsessed with you two.”
you tap your nail against the cup. “i cursed her in my head. don’t get comfortable.”
“you’re so annoying.” aeri grins, but she sounds endeared.
you groan and glance at the time. twenty one minutes until your first collection walks down the runway. the final outfit you chose is hanging up, zipped and untouched. you haven’t even changed yet.
“i don’t even know if she’s coming. and i don’t know if i want her to.” you mutter.
“she’s in love with you. of course she’s coming.”
you try to ignore the way your pulse quickens. “maybe she’ll finally do something on brand for once.”
aeri raises a brow. “you mean something that’s oddly thoughtful?”
before you can respond, a knock echoes throughout the room from against the dressing room door.
“if that’s an interviewer, ignore them.” you say instantly.
your assistant makes eye contact with aeri then heads to the door anyway.
“don’t open it!” you repeat.
but it’s already creaking open. your stylist turns around.
“oh. it’s your wife.” she says in a surprised tone.
you whip your head around so fast your earring nearly flies off.
she’s calmly standing in the doorway, wearing a matching cream suit with stitching that looks suspiciously similar to the one you’re about to wear.
and then her eyes meet yours.
“you’re not dressed yet.”
“what happened to hello?” then you slowly look over her clothes. the realization hits you like a freight train. “you color matched our outfits?”
aeri looks between you two, silent.
karina fully steps into the room now. “yeah. you say it like i don’t watch you.”
aeri sighs dreamily.
you spin around to face her. “don’t encourage her.”
the blonde is already walking towards the hanger to unzip your piece. your stylist stares at her like he might kick her out. you kinda want him to.
“you came.” you say, quieter now.
karina doesn’t even hesitate. “why wouldn’t i?”
“maybe because you ignored me like i was a bad tinder date.”
“you were asleep.”
“that’s never stopped you before.” you mutter.
her brows rise in an amused manner. “you want me to wake you up next time?”
“i want you to stop acting like everything’s fine when you literally mouth fucked me against a wall and then left before sunrise. why did you come?”
someone coughs awkwardly in the background. aeri stands and your stylist follows, ushering out the assistant with a look. the door closes gently behind them.
karina sighs and steps closer to you. “do you want to fight or do you want to get dressed?”
“why not both?” you lift your chin in defiance.
her fingers find the zipper on the hanging bag with a sigh.
“stop doing that. you kissed me first.”
“you kissed me back.”
“you left painkillers on my nightstand like we’re divorced.”
she turns to face you again, holding your outfit in one hand. “i was trying to be nice.”
“be meaner then.”
“you wouldn’t survive it.”
you try to come up with a comeback, but your brain stops functioning when she sets the hanger down and reaches for your waist instead.
her fingers skim your sides. “arms up.”
you hesitate.
“i’m not going to try anything.” she says, but her voice is smug.
“unless you ask.”
“i’d rather die.”
you raise your arms anyway.
she helps you out of your robe with a kind of gentleness that only makes you more feral inside. her touch is light but it lingers over your skin. it’s like she knows what she’s doing.
“stop looking at me like that.” you murmur.
“how?”
“like you’re about to kiss me again.”
she fastens the hooks at the back of your dress. her mouth is near your shoulder now.
“don’t tempt me.”
you glance at her through the mirror. she’s already looking at you with fascination in her eyes.
“tighten the corset a little.” you say.
“don’t tell me what to do.”
“karina.”
“i got it.”
she tightens it, knuckles brushing against your spine.
“we still have ten minutes.” she adds quietly.
you hold her gaze. “so?”
her hands pause at your back. “so… you still haven’t said thank you.”
you scoff. “for ignoring me?”
“no. i’m basically your unpaid assistant right now.”
“you’re basically my emotionally unavailable situationship.” you shoot back.
“you say that like i’m not here right now.”
you hate how your chest aches. “showing up isn’t the same as being there, karina.”
that leaves a silence between you two. her hand lingers at the small of your back, thumb pressing into the fabric.
you turn around to face her with a sigh. “you’re so full of yourself.”
“you’re dressed like my soulmate.”
“because you picked the outfit!”
“we were gonna end up matching anyway.”
your jaw tightens. she reaches around you again, taking a necklace into her hand.
“you look good. you’re beautiful.” she mutters.
“you didn’t answer me.” you say.
“about what?”
“why you came.”
karina’s fingers still and her voice softens.
“because you’re about to walk out there and show the world exactly what you’re capable of. and if i wasn’t here, it would be the dumbest decision of my life.” she says.
you look at her.
“that’s not saying much. you’ve made a lot of dumb decisions lately.” you mutter.
“you’re my favorite one.” she replies.
your lips part but nothing comes out.
then you swallow hard. “stop saying things like that.”
“why?” her voice is low. it feels like she’s not even trying to fight you anymore.
“because it feels like you mean them.”
her eyes flicker to your lips for just a second. “would it be easier if i didn’t?”
“yes. no. maybe. fuck.” you blink too many times.
she exhales like she’s been holding her breath this entire time. her fingers move to clasp the necklace around your neck with slow and gentle movements, and it feels like an apology.
you watch her in the mirror again. you hate her. her stupid, pretty blonde hair. the way her eyes soften when she looks at you. how her lips always look so kissable. you hate everything.
“please don’t tell me you came here to make it worse.” you say.
“i guess i sort of came too because i knew i already fucked it up.”
the clasp clicks into place. you spin to face her again. she’s too close.
“and what happens after this? when you leave again?” you ask, voice quiet.
“i won’t.” she says.
“don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“i’m not promising. i’m saying it. unless you don’t want me to stay.” she tilts her head.
you hate how bad you want her to. you hesitate long enough for her to notice.
“i hate you.” you mutter.
“i know. you’re pretty when you do.” she almost smiles.
you stare at her and she stares right back. it would be so easy to just close the distance.
but your name is called from the other side of the door. “five minutes!”
“fix my hair?” you ask just to be difficult. she rolls her eyes like she already knows that, but obediently steps behind you anyway.
then she steps back. her hand slides down your waist as she does, like she doesn’t wanna let you go.
“i’ll be front row. just like we planned.” she says.
“we didn’t plan anything.”
she gives you a look, smirking like it’s already been decided.
“we matched, didn’t we?” then she walks out.
“i’m gonna punch her later.” you murmur to your ancestors, looking over yourself in the mirror. you take a few deep breaths, hands ghosting across the pendant before perfecting your smile, clearing your throat, and walking out.
───────────────────────
flashes blind you the second you step outside.
your heels click against the pavement, seemingly louder than everyone else’s, because you’re kinda the main character right now.
your show just ended fifteen minutes ago and people are already calling it the collection of the season. cameras shout your name, karina’s too, but you don’t break stride.
she’s walking next to you, hand firm on your waist, practically glaring paparazzi out of the way as her other hand waves security forward. she’s muttering something about how some of them are getting sued tonight.
you’re just smiling.
once you reach the car, karina opens the door for you like a gentlewoman (even though security is right there?). “you take one more slow mo step for the cameras and i’m pushing you.” she grumbles.
you laugh as you slide in. “jealous they love me?”
she has to stop herself from saying “i love you.” so instead she climbs in beside you, door shutting just as your phone buzzes.
aeri 🧸
IM W THE HOT FRENCH ACTOR AYEEEEE 👅👅👅
he looked at you suspiciously tho…
BUT UR GAY AYEEEEE 👅👅👅👅
ur welcome for the emotional support this morning btw.
you
thank u 🥹
do i have to pay a fee for therapy
and don’t do anything i wouldn’t do
which is like
nothing
so go crazy ahhh
“texting your lawyer?” karina teases.
“texting aeri so she can help me sue you for emotional damage.” you say sweetly.
“gotta sue yourself first. you kissed me too.”
“don’t flatter yourself.”
she hums. “too late.”
you roll your eyes and glance out the window, city lights blurring past.
she doesn’t look at you right away. her palm rests on your knee, thumb brushing absentminded shapes against your skin.
“you were insane.” she says, quiet but sure.
“what?”
“the entire show. and that last model with the corseted jacket? your brain is perfect.” she says.
your throat tightens a little. “oh.”
then she finally looks at you. “you don’t believe me? you’re trending again.”
you shrug, eyes still on the window. “i just… haven’t heard you say anything like that in a while.”
her thumb pauses for a second before it resumes. “doesn’t mean i haven’t thought it.”
you glance over at her. she’s not teasing or smirking. you can see the devastating softness in her eyes as she watches you. it’s stupid.
you blink fast and look away again.
“you looked like you owned everything in that room. even the air.” she adds.
“and i still almost had a breakdown in the bathroom.”
“that’s the secret to your charm. you make everything look good.” she says like it’s obvious.
you huff a laugh, barely managing to hide how much that lands. “i hate you.”
“i know.”
your lips part again, useless. you have no words. she just keeps doing this. keeps showing up and saying things that make you believe she means them.
your phone buzzes again, thankfully pulling you from the tension.
aeri 🧸
he asked if we’re dating 😭😭😭
i said no but i think he’s suspicious
should i kiss him anyway???
AND pls eat something or i’ll be mad
you smile, thumbs moving quickly before she can peek.
you
kiss him
make out w him
and i’ll eat bread just for u
karina leans closer, peeking at the screen. “is that aeri? tell her to use protection.”
“the last person she needs advice from is you. you raw dog emotional damage.”
she grins. “you love it.”
you refuse to answer that.
outside the car window, more camera flashes burst like fireworks as the driver pulls up to the curb. your heart rate kicks up and karina’s hand doesn’t move from your knee. the car slows in front of the restaurant.
you hesitate. “you sure you’re ready for another round of this?”
“with you? everyday.” she shrugs.
the door opens. you step out first, letting your gaze flick to the crowd and then back at her. just briefly.
she smooths her suit and joins you, hand on your back.
the flashes keep going even after the door shuts behind you. her hand doesn’t move from your back as you walk into the venue, long marble corridor echoing beneath your heels. she nods politely at the host who leads you through the front.
your names are on the list. y/n jeon-yu & karina yu.
the room opens up with candlelit tables and a stupidly elegant floral centerpiece you know your mom picked. you spot her instantly, already waving excitedly like she hasn’t seen you in years.
your father looks unimpressed, but even he stands when you approach. karina’s hand only leaves your back once you’re pulling out your chair.
“darling! you were exceptional. absolutely amazing. it was art.” your mom gasps.
“and you. you looked like you were in love.” her eyes flick between you and karina.
you choke slightly on your water.
“she means with the clothes.” karina says smoothly, helping herself to a slice of bread.
“of course. but the chemistry? oh my god, girls. i’ve been getting messages. they think you’re soulmates.” your mom says. karina stifles a laugh. you can hear her going “that’s what i said” in her head.
you roll your eyes. “those people also think i’m secretly pregnant. somehow.”
“maybe you are. would explain all the mood swings.” karina mutters beside you.
you kick her under the table. she kicks you back.
“i’m just saying. now that you’re actually getting along, we should start planning the real ceremony.” your mom starts again, clutching her wine glass with too much force.
both you and karina speak up. “no.”
but you go “nooo…” while she goes “no, thank you.” with that ridiculous perfect politeness.
your dad sighs. “this again?”
across the table, karina’s mother appears mid sip of her cocktail and glares. “you think your daughter made my daughter less uptight? please. jimin’s the one carrying this pr disaster on her back.”
“oh, whatever. if anything, your daughter is lucky mine even agreed to go through with this—“ your mom snaps, lifting a brow.
“you act like she didn’t beg.”
you open your mouth but karina beats you to it. “okay. alright. that’s enough.”
the table goes awkwardly quiet. then she speaks up in a softer voice.
“this is her night. and she was incredible.” karina says.
your mom stares. her mom sets down her drink.
you glance at karina who’s already looking at you.
“we’re proud of you.” your dad says gruffly.
karina’s mom nods without looking at anyone. “she was very professional, i suppose.”
your throat gets tight again. karina leans closer.
“they’re annoying. but they’re right.” she whispers.
you almost smile. almost.
“wanna fake elope just to spite them?”
she shrugs. “tell me when and where.”
your mom gasps. “what was that?”
“nothing!” you both say in unison, grinning now.
karina’s hand brushes yours beneath the table. and for the first time in weeks, you let it stay there. you’ll probably fight again tomorrow. but right now, she’s here and she showed up.
synopsis: after a rare drunken night, y/n wakes up in bed next to the most untouchable girl at yonsei: karina. she’s immediately thrown into a mess she never wanted, torn between her own moral compass and the undeniable pull of something she doesn’t understand. some lines, once crossed, can never be undone.
w/c: 10k+
warnings: heavy cheating, implied sex, alcohol, smoking, just normal uni stuff, swearingggg, slow burn
a/n: tell me what you all think about sana
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
jimin’s dorm isn’t like yours.
it’s not like anyone’s, really. it’s more an apartment than a student room — tall ceilings, white walls that haven’t yellowed, windows that stretch too wide for the building they’re in. there’s a couch that looks barely sat on and the scent that clings to the place smells like white musk and the soft kind of vanilla that only comes from a candle someone forgot to blow out.
this space is curated and soft in a way you haven’t seen much of lately.
you try not to think about how out of place you feel; how this isn’t like your lounge, where the cushions don’t match and there’s always an empty mug on the floor. how ryujin would be throwing popcorn at your head by now and yunjin would be complaining about the spotify ads.
here, you’re a guest.
you’re sitting on the floor beside her bed, knees drawn up, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest. minjeong and ningning are sprawled across jimin’s mattress like it belongs to them, shoes kicked off, snacks half-finished between them. a half-open bag of maltesers is wedged against minjeong’s thigh and she’s chewing on the last one with the smugness of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing.
“so,” she begins, voice bright. “what time’s the wedding?”
ningning throws her head back. “god, finally. i was starting to think this was just a fucked up situationship.”
your hands are tucked between your knees and the carpet, grounding yourself. it doesn’t help because the carpet is too clean and too soft and there’s nothing to hold onto.
“it’s not like that,” you mumble.
“please,” minjeong chuckles, shaking her head. “you’ve been looking at her like she’s the sun. or, like, the moon if you’re feeling broody.”
“she always looks broody,” ningning adds.
“true.”
jimin’s leaning against the side of her desk, arms crossed, eyes on you — amused, but not unkind. there’s a gentleness in the way she watches this unfold, like she’s letting them tease because she knows they don’t know the full story.
because they haven’t seen you unravel in the dark of your own room, they haven’t had to hold the silence when the weight of this thing made you too quiet to touch.
“leave her alone,” she defends eventually, and it’s playful, but it’s also hers. the way she says it makes them both settle.
minjeong shrugs, steals another m&m. ningning flops back into the pillow and scrolls through her phone like she didn’t just try to marry you off.
you glance up at jimin, just for a second. her mouth lifts on one side, but her eyes stay serious. she can read you too easily these days, probably always could.
your chest tightens.
this version of her…standing in her own space, defending you lightly, smiling like it’s normal, has made it harder to breathe. it makes you wish the guilt didn’t sit so high in your throat.
it’s worse when it’s good and it feels easy, like maybe it could’ve been this simple all along. you look away as your fingers tighten around the hem of your sleeve.
she walks over a second later and kneels in front of you. her hands land gently on your knees, thumbs brushing small circles into the fabric of your jeans.
you glance at the door, but it’s pointless. minjeong and ningning aren’t paying attention now, lost in whatever they’re laughing at on someone’s story.
“hey,” she says softly. “you okay?”
you nod, but it’s not convincing.
she tilts her head; waits.
you speak without looking at her. “i don’t know how to do this.”
she brushes her fingers along your knuckles. “just be you.”
that doesn’t help…being you is the problem.
being you means carrying everything you’ve been too afraid to say and it’s deeper than that — there’s a pit in your stomach that’s been growing since she asked you to come.
because this is the closest you’ll ever be to being part of her real life. and even then, it’s only half of one.
pressing your palms against your thighs, you try to breathe to slow your thoughts down long enough to match the pace of her touch.
“they’ll like you,” she comforts you in the softest voice. “they will.”
“they think you’re dating jaewook.”
jimin doesn’t say anything for a second. then, gentler: “not for much longer.”
you want to believe her….you really do.
minjeong coughs something that sounds like kiss her already and ningning groans dramatically.
she leans in to kiss you.
she tastes like mint and whatever tea she was drinking before you arrived. she doesn’t rush it. just holds your face like you’re something she’s still learning how to be gentle with.
you don’t realise your eyes are closed until she pulls back.
when you open them, minjeong’s holding up a pretend veil with one of jimin’s t-shirts, and ningning’s got her phone out like she’s documenting the whole thing.
“congrats on the engagement,” ningning smiles.
“don’t forget to invite us to the divorce.”
you roll your eyes, but your throat is tight. your laugh doesn’t land quite right.
jimin squeezes your hand but you’re not ready.
she stands first, offers you her hand.
you take it and follow her out, the door clicking shut behind you, too quiet for how loud your heart’s beating. she mumbles something like ‘get out of my room’ to the girls and all they do is laugh.
there’s a black rolls royce already pulling up to the curb when you step out; your throat closes. it glides to a stop so silently it feels rehearsed — as if the car has been choreographed to arrive exactly here, now, like a scene out of a film you’re not supposed to be in.
your first thought is that it’s blocking traffic. your second is: oh. it’s for us.
the driver steps out, immaculate in a pressed grey uniform. he rounds the car slowly, opens the door like he’s done this for a hundred different people, none of whom have ever had to stop themselves from visibly flinching.
jimin, of course, doesn’t react.
she simply squeezes your hand and murmurs, “one of dad’s cars.”
and that should be funny. and casual. but it lands like a stone in your chest.
the leather seats are too soft, even. you sit stiffly, unsure of what to do with your legs. she settles beside you, reaching for your hand again as if it’s second nature.
perhaps it is for her. maybe pretending she’s always allowed to touch you comes easier than the truth. you feel the car begin to move, the world outside drifting quietly by.
for a moment, it’s quiet between you.
then, because you can’t not ask, your voice slips in, barely above the low hum of the road: “what did you tell them?”
she blinks, turns to look at you, her expression unreadable. “my parents?”
you nod. “yeah.”
she exhales, presses her thumb into your knuckles. “i told them you’re a friend. someone i met recently. someone…special in my life.”
you look down at her hand in yours.
not girlfriend. not partner. and definitely not the girl i love. just special.
you breathe in through your nose. “what about jaewook?”
there’s a pause; you can almost hear the low thrum of traffic through the double-glazed windows. her fingers tighten slightly.
“don’t bring him up tonight,” she answers in a pleading tone.
you glance at her, but she’s already turned away, staring out the window. not cold, something like distant.
your chest aches with something you can’t name. it’s a deep, slow burn — like you’re being hollowed out in pieces.
she clears her throat softly. “what are your plans for the break?”
the change in topic is obvious, but you let it happen.
“working,” you answer. “studying.”
she hums. “you should come away with me.”
you blink. “what?”
“just for a few days. somewhere quiet,” she turns back to you, her eyes softer now. “we could get out of the city. clear our heads.”
you hesitate because you don’t know what that would mean. what you’d be. what she’d allow herself to be.
“depends,” you finally reply.
she smiles; the type that wants to believe everything can still be okay.
but you’re already slipping away, just slightly. you look back out the window and try to anchor yourself to the ordinary; the passing buildings, the hum of the tyres, the slight vibration beneath your seat.
however, your thoughts scream louder than anything else.
what does it mean to be brought into someone’s life only half-visible?
you imagine jimin’s parents: their polished smiles, the weight of expectations wrapped in polite sentences. you wonder if they’ve spoken about wedding dates in whispers over breakfast. if they’ve imagined a son-in-law who never had to be introduced as just special.
the car turns and up ahead, a set of iron gates rise between two massive stone columns, ivy curling up their sides. as it approaches, the gates begin to open automatically, swinging wide with a soft mechanical groan that somehow sounds expensive.
your stomach flips.
you don’t belong here.
the driveway curves gently through a stretch of manicured lawn — no dead patches, no overgrown hedges, just careful perfection. there’s a fountain in the middle of the roundabout, water cascading in tiers. lights glow along the edges of the path. the kind of estate you’ve only ever seen in magazines.
and then the mansion comes into view.
it’s tall and pale and sprawling, all stone columns and symmetrical windows. a place built by people who’ve never worried about bills or bus routes, where voices echo in marble halls and names are carried with weight.
you grip your knee, suddenly clammy through your jeans. you’re still in your seat when jimin touches your hand again.
“hey.”
you turn to her. she looks….too calm. and it probably comes from years of walking into rooms where she never has to explain herself.
her thumb brushes your wrist. “just be yourself. okay?”
you want to laugh, but it would come out wrong because you don’t know what being yourself is when you’re only ever allowed to be part of her in secret.
but you nod anyway.
when the driver opens the door for you, you step out into someone else’s world. one that was never built for you, where love like this doesn’t exist outside the shadows.
the front doors of the mansion swing open before either of you reach the final step. they move like part of the house itself — silent, smooth, handled by someone whose job is to anticipate needs before they’re voiced.
a man in a black suit stands just beyond the threshold, posture so upright it feels performative. beside him, a woman in a pale blouse and soft heels waits with a smile already painted on.
mr and mrs yu.
you recognise her before she speaks — the same eyes as jimin. softer around the edges, but familiar. she steps forward, hands extended, and she leans in for a quick kiss on the cheek that feels too rehearsed to be intimate.
“mum, dad,” jimin greets, voice perfectly even. “this is y/n.”
mrs yu’s smile widens, warm in a way that almost feels real. “so lovely to meet you, y/n. we’ve heard a little bit about you.”
you nod quickly, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands. “thank you for having me.”
“ah,” mr yu clicks his tongue, not unfriendly, but with a kind of deliberate precision. he offers his hand — firm grip, quick release. “welcome.”
his voice is deep, clear. there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes your spine straighten. like he’s already cataloguing you. the posture, the voice, the shoes.
he doesn’t linger, doesn’t offer anything more.
fuck’s sake.
mrs yu steps back and gestures you both in. “come inside, come in — you must be cold.”
you follow jimin through the foyer and it’s ridiculous how big it is. high ceilings, crown mouldings, floors that don’t creak with every step. the light comes from chandeliers you don’t want to know the price of. there’s a curved staircase on one side and a long hallway stretching into quiet, expensive distance.
everything smells faintly of polish and lavender.
she walks calmly, unfazed, because she grew up tracing her fingers along these walls.
you lean toward her as you pass through another arched doorway. “you never mentioned being a crazy rich asian.”
she smiles. “you never asked.”
“i didn’t think i needed to ask.”
“i didn’t think it mattered.”
you raise your eyebrows but don’t push. she nudges your arm, a small grin on her lips and for a second it feels easy again.
mrs yu turns slightly as she walks beside you. “i’m sure this is all a bit much. jimin never really brings anyone over. not even her friends.”
you glance at jimin, but her face is unreadable.
“it’s beautiful,” you mumble quietly.
“it’s old,” she replies, almost fondly. “my husband’s family built the original structure — we’ve done a few renovations since. that chandelier is venetian, by the way. imported.”
you look up, nodding, then catch something along the wall — a long, gilded frame with a photo inside. the whole family. jimin in a pressed white dress, her sister beside her, taller and sharper. mr yu standing between them like a pillar. mrs yu with a hand on each of their shoulders; everyone smiling, perfect and still.
you wonder what it’s like to grow up framed in gold.
you’re led into the dining room next and it’s as dramatic as everything else — wide table, high-backed chairs, tall windows dressed in heavy fabric.
there’s food already on the table: plated starters, baskets of bread, glasses of red and white glinting in the candlelight. you sit where they tell you. jimin slips in beside you before you can object. her leg brushes yours under the table — casual, but deliberate.
you try to focus on the food but it’s quiet. too quiet. the cutlery clinks against porcelain. a butler moves soundlessly in and out of the room.
mr yu finally clears his throat. “how did you two meet?”
you glance at jimin, unsure who should speak.
she answers smoothly, without hesitation. “at uni. we had a class in the same building. i kept seeing her around.”
“what do you study?” he asks, looking to you now.
“law,” you reply. “final year.”
he nods once, like some sort of approval. “ambitious.”
mrs yu smiles as she reaches for the bread. “we’re so glad you could join us, y/n. i know how busy things get during the end of the term.”
“thank you for having me,” you say again because it’s the only thing that feels safe.
you feel her shift beside you and a moment later, she’s reaching for the bottle of red wine. she pours it slowly into your glass, her sleeve brushing your arm.
“you okay with this?” she asks softly, just for you.
you nod, taking the glass. the wine is rich, dry. probably expensive.
jimin pours her own glass next and sits back, hand resting too close to yours under the table. her knee presses lightly against your thigh. she’s pretending not to notice but it’s there. and now you can’t stop noticing it either.
the conversation drifts to jimin’s sister, to the renovation happening on one of the properties, to a cousin who just got engaged. you try to keep your expression polite, interested but you feel it building again — that tension in your chest.
you’re holding your breath through something that shouldn’t be painful, but is.
because she’s here. beside you…pouring your wine, touching your knee, playing this role like she wants to be seen as your girlfriend.
but only by you. never by them; not fully.
and you don’t know what’s worse — that she wants you here or that she still won’t name what you are.
the dinner stretches out like a warm, gilded illusion. food comes and goes, silver dishes passed politely, wine poured with an ease that only happens in houses like this. you don’t recognise half the things on your plate but you eat them anyway. it’s easier than thinking.
and somehow, between the clink of cutlery and the softness of linen napkins, you find yourself talking to jimin’s father more than you expected to. he surprises you, sharp in a way you didn’t anticipate.
he asks what you plan to do with your degree. when you mention that both your parents teach at korea university, he raises an eyebrow.
“ah,” he says, with a small smirk. “the enemy.”
you blink. “since i started at yonsei, dinners become a battlefield.”
he chuckles, loud enough that even the butler standing near the back of the room shifts a little. “depends on the night.”
“mum teaches literature,” you add, like that might soften it. “dad’s in political science.”
“ah, the best combination,” he waves his hand as if that explains something. “i always say: literature makes you dream, politics makes you useful.”
“i think they’d disagree.”
“then they’re proving my point.”
you smile despite yourself. it’s easy to see where jimin gets it — the dry humour, the coolness that masks something warmer underneath.
“you ever consider working corporate?” he asks, somewhere between his second and third glass of red. “we’re always looking for sharp people.”
you clear your throat. “at yu group?”
he shrugs like he hasn’t just casually offered you a future most people would kill for. “why not? we like smart women.”
you try to laugh, try to brush it off. “i’m really not that good.”
and that’s when she speaks up. “she’s top of her class.”
the words come out steady. proud. there’s a curl to her mouth like she’s been holding that fact in for weeks, just waiting for the chance to say it out loud. her hand is still under the table, fingers brushing lightly against yours every few minutes like she can’t quite stop.
“the best friend i could ever have,” she adds, glancing your way.
you nod once, quietly, and don’t correct her.
her mother is still smiling and he gives a slight nod, as if approval has been granted and the conversation can move on. and for a few minutes, it does — talk of real estate, someone’s cousin in dubai, a destination wedding next spring that mrs yu is already dreading.
you sip your wine and watch the way the glass distorts the candlelight when you tilt it just slightly. and for a moment, just a brief flicker, you let yourself believe you’re in the room for a reason that matters. but then — like it always does — the truth finds its way in.
“what day is your flight again, darling?” her mother asks, casually reaching for more bread. “we’ll be in provence the second week, but if you and jaewook are still in italy by then, we can meet up somewhere in between.”
the bread on your plate goes untouched as your breath hitches. jimin’s hand stiffens under the table, but she doesn’t say anything.
what the fuck, you thought.
her father swallows a sip of wine. “shame he couldn’t make it tonight. would’ve been nice to have all three of you.”
and that’s it.
no clarification or awkward laughs, no sudden oh — actually, it’s not jaewook anymore.
you’re not surprised.
but god, does it ache.
your fingers curl into your napkin, slow and controlled. you fold it neatly across your lap, not because it needs folding but because your hands need something to do. your throat tightens around nothing. the food in front of you blurs just slightly at the edges.
jaewook.
still him.
it’ll always be fucking him.
you feel it settle across your shoulders — the weight of what this really is. you were invited because he wasn’t able to go…a replacement seat at a table already set. her best friend, top of her class, easy to bring along. quiet and agreeable. not the boy she kisses in public and definitely not the one they’re planning a european summer with.
just…you.
you nod along as the conversation rolls forward without you. smile when it’s expected, answer a question about school that you don’t really hear. jimin laughs beside you, comments something about her sister’s bad taste in music, pours you more wine.
and still, she says nothing.
you wonder if she hears it too — the silence between the lines. the place where the truth should’ve lived.
you wonder if she’ll say something when you leave. if she’ll reach for your hand again and say, i didn’t know she’d mention him. or the trip i’m planning with him. if she’ll apologise in that soft way she always does, the one that makes you forgive her even when you know you shouldn’t.
but in this moment, she keeps talking.
smiling.
and all you can feel is how cold it suddenly is in a room this beautiful.
the voices around you start to blur. not all at once — just enough at first that it’s like someone’s layered a film over the evening. like the table, the wine, the laughter have all slipped just slightly out of sync with the rest of the world.
someone says something about florence. someone else corrects it — no, they’ll be starting in amsterdam.
you’re still sitting there but the room feels like it’s pressing in on itself.
jimin adds: “it’s not even set in stone yet,” and her mother waves a hand like that’s never mattered. “oh, you always say that. jaewook’s already looking at hotels.”
the ringing starts behind your left ear. dull and high like the edge of a migraine or the hum of old fluorescent lights. you don’t move, pressing your fingers into the napkin on your lap and let the fabric give.
in your head, you hear it again. her voice, low and tired, the night she showed up in your room without knocking. i love you. she whispered it like it had cost her something.
you believed her.
god, you had believed her and she played you like a fool.
you try to replay the moments — the first time she reached for your hand under a table, the night she stood in the doorway of your dorm with a sandwich in one hand and your name in her mouth. the way she looked at you, back when she thought no one else was watching.
but now they feel like film stills. scenes from a movie you loved once, but can’t remember the plot of. you see the way she would smile at you, forehead pressed to yours, lips brushing against your cheek like a promise.
except it wasn’t.
it was borrowed time.
you don’t realise you’re standing until your chair scrapes softly against the floor. they all stop talking. jimin glances over at you, startled.
“are you okay?” she asks, concern written all over her face.
you offer something that’s barely a sentence — a quiet, “bathroom,” or maybe just “sorry.” you’re not sure.
you find your way down the hallway like you’ve done this a hundred times even though you’ve never been here before.
and of course, the bathroom is clean. it smells like rosewater and something more expensive underneath. the sink is built into marble that has no chips or watermarks. everything is pale and gold and the mirror is wide and unforgiving.
you shut the door and lock it. the sound of the latch falling into place is too loud. you stand there for a second, just staring at the back of the door like it might give you answers.
then you take a deep breath.
or try to.
but your chest stays tight as if it’s been sewn closed. there’s no room left to inhale anything that doesn’t hurt. you grip the edge of the sink with both hands and look up at yourself in the mirror.
and there it is: the truth.
you’re not her girlfriend.
you’re not even her plan.
you’re the person she pours wine for while her mother sets the table for someone else. the one she calls her best friend with a smile, knowing you won’t correct her because you’ll sit quietly and play along.
because love has made you soft and fucking stupid and willing.
you press your fingers to your face, trying to swallow it back. the shaking starts in your hands, then moves up your arms, into your shoulders. it’s not loud.
it’s just you, bent slightly forward over a porcelain sink in a stranger’s home, trying to breathe through the moment everything comes undone.
your eyes burn. not like they did before, not with frustration — this is different. a tear slips out and it doesn’t need noise to hollow you out. it just comes warm down your cheeks before you even feel it.
you believed her because you thought loving you meant she would choose you.
you let yourself imagine what it would be like to be hers fully — not in whispers, not in bedrooms with the lights off, but in rooms like that one, with her parents and their careful china and the space beside her not reserved for someone else.
it’s the type of crying that comes with knowing. with the final, gut-deep understanding that the person you love is never going to choose you in the way that matters.
your breath catches, shoulders shaking once and then again. your hand covers your mouth, as if that will keep it in. but the tears come slowly, hot and unspectacular. no gasping, just a quiet, trembling fall — like something inside you giving up the fight.
you think of irene. of how she looked at you like she was waiting for you to admit what you already knew; or taehyung, eyes soft, voice careful, telling you not to wear your heart so openly for someone who never earned it.
your reflection stares back — red-eyed and dull. you wipe beneath your eyes with your sleeve, knowing it won’t fix anything. not the ache.
you want to leave but you don’t know how to move.
so you sit on the edge of the bathtub instead, hands clenched in your lap, breath uneven, heart too loud in your ears.
and you stay there.
because for the first time, you know — this is the end.
this is it. the moment you realise you can’t keep folding yourself smaller just to stay beside someone who won’t stand up for you.
this is where it changes — not because something broke but because you’re done pretending it hasn’t already.
you stay like that. knees to chest, palms open. letting the grief do what it needs to.
the knock startles you. it’s soft, almost careful, but it pulls you out of yourself like a thread tugged loose. you blink hard; for a moment you don’t know where you are. the light above you hums softly, you can’t remember when the crying stopped.
you push yourself off the floor, legs heavy, vision blurred. your reflection in the mirror is wrecked. skin blotchy, lips trembling, eyes red in a way that can’t be wiped clean. you splash cold water on your cheeks anyway and pat down your face with a hand towel that smells too clean, too untouched. you run your fingers under your eyes until the worst of it fades.
another knock, a little firmer this time.
when you unlock the door and open it, jimin is standing there.
her eyes widen the moment she sees you. not because of the tears still clinging to your lashes, but because she can tell. she sees it all over your face — something’s broken. and this time, it won’t go back.
“hey,” she breathes, stepping in quickly. “what happened, are you —”
you don’t mean to cry again but the moment she wraps her arms around you, it’s like something gives way. your hands clutch her coat, your forehead presses against her shoulder and the words start spilling out before you can stop them.
“i can’t do whatever this is anymore,” you whisper, over and over, broken and breathless. “i can’t. this is fucking ruining me.”
she shushes you gently, one hand at the back of your head, the other wrapped tight around your waist. “hey, hey, it’s okay. i’ve got you. we’ll figure it out. just breathe, baby.”
you’re shaking against her now, unable to stop the way your chest keeps folding in on itself. she pulls you tighter. “we’ll get through it. together. okay? just breathe with me.”
you let her hold you, the smell of her perfume — something soft and green, wraps around you like a memory. it used to calm you. now it just makes your stomach hurt.
after a long while, the tears slow because you’ve emptied everything you had left.
you pull back, just slightly…enough to look at her.
“sit,” you say and your voice doesn’t shake this time.
she does.
you stand in front of her, hands in your pocket and heart pounding in your ears. “we’re over.”
her whole body goes still, eyebrows creasing. “what?”
“we’re over, jimin.”
“no,” she answers too quickly, standing too fast, grabbing your wrists. “no, you don’t mean that.”
you pull your arms free and step back. “i do.”
she’s already crying; hands trembling when she reaches for your face and this time you let her touch you, just for a second. her thumbs brushing your cheeks like she’s trying to memorise you. “no, please — i love you.”
you stare at her, jaw tight. “no, you love the way i made you feel. like you weren’t trapped. like there was another version of your life, but you never chose me, not once.”
“that’s not true —”
“isn’t it?” you interrupt. “you’ve made yourself believe your feelings for jaewook are gone, but they’re not. they’re just safe now. familiar. he’s the life your parents approve of, the one you’ve built history with. and i’m just some girl you met that’s in the way of that.”
she opens her mouth, but nothing comes.
“we have nothing in common,” you go on. “you don’t even know what my favourite book is. i don’t know what makes you cry when no one’s watching. we built this on stolen time and secrecy and you called it love.”
her tears fall faster. she grabs for your hand again, holds it like it might keep you from leaving. “i do love you.”
you shake your head slowly. “then why am i still the secret?”
“i’m not ready,” she whispers, lowering her head down. “i…i just need more time. but i’ll choose you, again and again.”
you stare at her, your voice low now. and steady. “then tell me. if you could call jaewook right now, end things, be with me completely — would you?”
she doesn’t answer and that’s all you need.
you nod, looking down at her hand wrapped around yours and peel her fingers off gently.
“you say you love me,” you mumble with such finality. “but you love the idea of me. you wish i were jaewook.”
her face crumples. “don’t say that. it’s not true!”
but the silence that followed your question said more than enough. you step back and wipe your face once more.
you’re done.
and then, without looking at her, you say: “please tell your parents i’m sorry for leaving early.”
she moves forward again, desperate now. “y/n, please. please, just listen. i love you.”
you don’t look at her. not because you don’t want to, but because if you do, you’ll remember what it feels like to fall for her all over again.
you open the bathroom door. her voice cracks behind you, softer now. “please don’t go.”
stepping into the hall, the door clicks shut behind you. she doesn’t chase you. and this time, this is the end. not with slammed doors or shouted words — but with truth spoken in a tone that leaves nothing behind.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the bar is dim and sticky and too loud — you don’t know how you ended up here.
the streets were a blur and now you’re leaning over a counter that hasn’t been wiped properly, asking the bartender for the cheapest shot of vodka they have. it’s the kind of place that smells like old limes and wet wood, where every surface feels touched a hundred times over.
it’s busy for a thursday night. some uni students shouting over pool in the corner, a girl laughing too loudly behind you, someone bumping your stool on the way past and muttering a half-apology. you don’t care.
the chaos works for you right now. it matches something inside your chest that’s still shaking.
your phone vibrates again and you straight up ignore it.
he slides the vodka toward you without asking for a name. you tip it back. it burns all the way down: sharp, sour, pointless. you close your eyes as inhale sharply through your nose; hands trembling as you put the glass down.
twenty-three missed calls from jimin.
leave me alone, you thought, swiping your thumb across the screen and hold down the power button as the light fades.
the world quiets just slightly.
you sit there, watching people, not trying to think. a man two seats over is telling a story that’s making his friends cry with laughter. a girl with glitter on her cheeks keeps checking her lipstick in a compact mirror; you wonder what it must feel like to be that far away from someone.
another shot appears in front of you. you don’t remember asking for it; maybe you did.
you’re halfway through deciding whether or not to drink it when someone slips into the stool beside you.
her perfume gets there first. something floral, warm, a little sweet — oddly familiar.
“you look like shit,” she points out.
you don’t need to look up to know it’s sana. still, you turn to her.
her hair is messy, damp at the ends like she’s run her fingers through it too many times, eyeliner smudged and lips glossy in a way that looks accidental. there’s a looseness to her posture that tells you she’s had at least a few drinks already, maybe four. she leans forward like she owns the bar, one arm slung lazily across the counter.
“so,” she playfully smiles, chin tilted toward your untouched glass. “are you drinking to forget or to remember?”
you shake your head once; tired. “i don’t even know anymore.”
she hums, signals the bartender for something with a flick of her fingers. “classic.”
you stare at her for a moment. the way she exists so unapologetically like every room owes her something: she’s chaos dressed in perfume and charm and too much skin.
but tonight, she looks more undone than usual.
“what are you doing here, sana?” you ask. “this is not your go-to.”
she shrugs. “felt like being somewhere no one expected me to be and look who i found.” you nod, because yeah. same. she glances sideways at you, her expression shifting. “so who broke your heart?”
you laugh once, sharp and humourless. “does it matter?”
“no,” she chuckles and takes a sip of her drink. “but i like knowing things, about you.”
you watch her for a moment. the way she swirls the straw through her cocktail, her eyes refusing to leave yours.
“you still with her or what?” she asks, voice lower now.
you don’t answer; not directly. just pick up your shot. holding it, stare at the way the light bends through the clear liquid.
sana leans closer. “that’s a no, then,” you don’t look at her but you smile, raising the glass and drink. it burns, again. she grins, lazy and dangerous. “your loss, her mistake.”
you rest your forehead against your hand, elbow on the bar. and beside you, she doesn’t move away or ask anything else.
she just sits there, humming under her breath as she sips her drink…like she’s got all the time in the world.
the fifth shot goes down rougher than the rest. not because the vodka changed, but because your body’s caught up to the burn. your stomach’s all heat and sour now, your tongue slightly numb. everything’s spinning at a slow, bearable tilt, like the bar’s decided to rock with you instead of against you.
you slide the bills across the counter with more force than needed, eyes squinting at the total.
“keep the change,” you mumble and you don’t wait to see the bartender’s reaction.
you hear the scrape of a stool behind you and then the familiar click of low heels on wood, trailing after your unsteady footsteps.
the dive bar’s crowd has spilled into the street — a girl sobbing into her phone by the curb, a group laughing too loud as they light cigarettes with shaky hands, some guy in a bucket hat asking for a lighter with no success.
you don’t make eye contact with anyone. just walk, or try to. the footpath dips and rolls beneath you like it’s breathing and you’re not sure if you’re heading home or just away.
behind you, sana keeps pace, heels tapping against the pavement. “you can’t walk like that,” she calls out, slurring slightly, but her voice is firm. “you’ll end up in a ditch. or a song.”
you glance over your shoulder. “i’m not…i don’t need —”
“i’m calling an uber,” she interrupts, holding up her phone. “separate ones, if that makes you feel less dramatic.”
you stop walking, heels turning to her.
she looks like something out of a painting. messy hair falling past her shoulders, lip gloss fading, eyes glassy but stubborn. the moonlight paints her in soft blues and silvers, catching the curve of her cheekbone and the flush of her skin.
and you say it before you even know why. “why do you care so much, sana? look at the mess you are.”
she doesn’t even flinch at your tone. “this is the mess you made out of me.”
her words land with more weight than you expect, cutting through your buzz like a jagged breath. you take a step back, startled by it, but she moves forward, steadying you before your balance tips. her hand against your arm is warm and certain, like she still remembers how to hold you together.
you stare at her, too stunned to speak because she’s right…you left her hanging, dropped her without words and disappeared like she was something easy to forget.
now she’s here, a couple drinks deep just like you, still trailing behind like she’s afraid you’ll vanish somehow. you keep your silence as you turn around and keep walking, slower this time. behind you, she follows. her steps are lighter and uneven. you glance back and notice the way she’s stumbling slightly in those stupid fucking heels.
leaning against someone’s fence for support, you tug off your shoes — battered old sneakers, half-untied and hold them out to her without a word.
“what? no, don’t be —”
“you can’t walk in those if you’re gonna stalk me,” you point out, voice low, tired. “just take them.”
she hesitates, but something in your face shuts her up. she slips out of her heels, gingerly trades them for yours. they look ridiculous on her, too big, laces flapping as she tries to balance.
you scoop her heels up, one in each hand. your feet hit the concrete cold and flat, but it feels better somehow. more honest.
you walk in silence, just two girls carrying too many things.
the park is a few blocks down. patchy grass, crooked benches, a rusted swing set creaking in the breeze. someone left a pizza box under the water fountain. you walk straight to the centre of the lawn and collapse onto it without thinking.
sana stands over you for a second. “you’re actually insane.”
“and barefoot.”
she sighs, then joins you. the grass crunches beneath her as she lies down. her shoulder brushes yours.
you stare up at the sky. too much city light to see stars…though there’s a faint blur, soft and grey.
you think about jimin. what she’s doing. whether she’s still pacing that house, calling you. whether she’s crying into her hands, or justifying the silence to herself.
but you remind yourself that’s not your place anymore. you’re not the girl she loves.
you never were.
“i was hurt, you know,” she pulls you out of your trance suddenly. her voice is soft now, blurred around the edges. “watching you…with her.”
you turn your head. she’s still staring at the sky.
“i’m not as stupid as jaewook,” she adds.
you clench your jaw. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”
she snorts, rolling her head to look at you. “you do, but it’s fine. play dumb. you’re good at it.”
you look away.
“it was a slap,” she goes on. “watching you hide for her when you couldn’t even show up for me — i wish you looked at me like that…back then.”
the grass is damp beneath you, seeping into your jeans. your fingers curl into the blades, tugging at them like they’ll offer something real.
“i adored you,” she whispers. “probably still do.”
you feel the ache rise in your chest again. sharp and familiar. her voice is so close, warm and breaking.
your throat tightens because you know you can’t give her what she wants. not now, not when you’re like this. the weight of it all is too much; the fact that it’s her saying these things when she was the one you walked away from without a word.
you don’t know what to say, so you do what you always do. “i’m really sorry.”
her breath catches, like she wasn’t expecting it.
and for a while, you both just lie there. with the city buzzing around you. with your shoes on her feet, her heels in your hands and nothing between you but too many unsaid things.
it’s not long before your heart is beating too fast. not from the drinking — that haze has worn off in waves, leaving only the chill of the grass underneath your back and the weight of too many feelings layered on your chest.
the park feels still, but the world spins around you anyway. you can feel it in the hum of the city, in the ache behind your eyes, in the way your fingers curl tighter around sana’s heels with every passing second.
beside you, she’s lying on her side now, head propped up by her arm. you can feel her gaze on you, warm and heavy, like it always was; as if she’s reading you without permission.
you reach into your coat pocket, fish out your phone and press the button to turn it on. it lights up with missed calls, unread messages. the screen too bright against the dark.
sana shifts, voice quiet. “how long?”
you glance at her. her face is lit by the soft yellow wash of a distant streetlamp. strands of her hair fall across her cheek.
you sigh. “a few months.”
“how many?”
“maybe…five.”
she exhales hard through her nose. “fuck, y/n.”
you turn your head back to the sky. it doesn’t look any different than it did ten minutes ago.
“you’re really something,” she adds, shaking her head, but there’s no bite to it…only exhaustion.
you sit with the truth of it. no more hiding, or saying it wasn’t serious like it ever made it easier.
“how did you figure it out?” you wonder, not looking at her.
she’s quiet for a long moment, so long that you think she’s not going to answer. then: “when you stopped looking at me completely. before karina, you still…i don’t know…you used to look at me. even when we stopped being whatever we were, you still gave me something. guilt, maybe. attention; a glance.”
you look at her now. she’s staring at the grass like it has answers.
“and then at the bar,” she add. “you didn’t even flinch. just looked through me like i was no one and she didn’t look too happy the second i sat beside you,” she says with a bitter laugh. “so, not hard to figure out.”
you nod slowly, shame crawling up your spine. “you’re right.”
she shrugs, like she wishes she weren’t.
you rest your chin against your shoulder, eyes half-closed. “so why do you still hang around?”
she laughs, short and dry. “because moving on from a year of being truly in love with someone who never let you all the way in isn’t exactly a clean break.”
her words land quietly. there’s no edge to them. just a dull, familiar ache.
“i’m sorry, sana.”
“you’ve already said that.”
“i thought you were too good for me,” you mutter, the words slow, as if admitting them aloud might solidify something you’ve never said before. “you were older and smarter. you had your life figured out. i was barely holding mine together, i didn’t know what i wanted and committing to anything felt like standing on really thin ice.”
she wipes under her eye with the edge of her sleeve. it’s dark, but you see the movement. you hear the breath that catches.
“you really hurt me,” she says, almost inaudibly.
before you can answer, your phone lights up in your lap, another call. you look at the name. your stomach twists.
“it’s her.”
sana doesn’t move, doesn’t look away. “answer it.”
your hands shake as you slide your thumb across the screen.
“y/n?” jimin’s voice is soft, breathless. “oh baby, thank god.”
you close your eyes. your chest hurts.
“i just wanted to hear your voice,” she continues. “i didn’t know where you went. i — I’ve been calling for hours. are you okay? are you safe?”
you swallow. your voice comes out hoarse. “i’m okay, i’m safe.”
there’s a pause on the other end and you hear the shuffling of keys.
“where are you?” she asks. “i’ve been at your dorm all night, but you’re not here.”
you hesitate, eyes flicking to sana, who’s still watching you — still here, her expression unreadable.
pressing the phone tighter to your ear, you heave out a sigh. “i’m with…sana.”
there’s a sharp breath on the line until it’s just pure silence.
“i’ll come pick you up,” jimin demands, voice suddenly firmer. “just tell me where.”
“no,” you whisper and your thumb hovers. “not now. or ever.”
“y/n —”
but you don’t wait. you hang up. you stare at the screen for a second, let it burn in your hand. and then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you block her number.
you put the phone back in your coat and don’t say anything.
sana doesn’t ask. she just lies beside you, in borrowed shoes, in the cold, with her heart cracked open beside yours. and neither of you move. not yet.
the silence stretches long after you’ve dropped your phone back into your pocket. it settles between the two of you like fog, slow and low and quiet. your arms are cold against the grass and your back damp.
the night’s caught up with you all at once, and you’re not sure if you feel like throwing up or falling asleep.
she finally shifts beside you, just enough for her shoulder to press into yours again.
you can still feel the ghost of jimin’s voice in your ear, clinging to the inside of your chest. how quickly she moved from relief to control; how ready she was to come and get you, like she still believed she had that right.
you wish it hurt more. instead, it just feels numb, too much noise behind glass.
sana exhales and you glance at her. she’s lying on her back again, arms crossed over her stomach, hair spread messily over the grass. she’s watching the sky like there’s something up there worth seeing.
“you really blocked her?”
you nod. “yeah.”
she doesn’t look surprised, somehow relieved in a way. “good.”
it’s a small word, but it lands like something final.
you let it sit between you.
your fingers uncurl, finally letting go of her heels. they clatter quietly to the grass beside you. she tilts her head slightly, eyes scanning your face like she’s still trying to map it.
“do you think you’ll go back to her?”
the question catches you off guard, you’re too tired to lie. “i don’t know.”
she nods once. accepts it, but something shifts in her jaw. you can see it — the way she wants to say more, but doesn’t.
you wish you could give her something. you wish you had anything left to give.
“thank you,” you say, voice raw. “for being here.”
sana blinks and her lips part like she might respond, but she doesn’t. instead, she leans her head lightly against your shoulder and you let her.
because even though you terribly broke her once, she’s here anyway. even if she shouldn’t be, even if you still don’t know how to love her back — it means something.
and so you sit together, shoes off, hearts messy, the night too long.
it’s just her head on your shoulder, the weight of everything you’ve done and the ache of something that could’ve been, if only you had known how to hold it.
“come on,” she gently utters after a while, lifting her head from your shoulder. “let’s walk…wherever it takes us.”
you laugh, short and breathless. “i might throw up.”
she shrugs like she’s pleased. “even better.”
she stands slowly, brushing the grass off her skirt with the kind of care that’s always been half her charm — the elegance she carried. then she offers both hands, open palms toward you as if she’s done this before…like she’s always been the one to pull you off the ground.
you let her haul you up, even if your legs feel like they’re made of wet cardboard. you sway a little and she catches you again, like it’s reflex.
you glance behind, spot the shoes you dropped earlier. “wait —”
you break from her hold and shuffle back toward them. the grass is damp under your socks, sticking to your skin in clumps. you lean down and squint at the faint logo printed along the insole.
“you didn’t tell me these were prada,” you grin, holding them up.
“does it matter?”
“yeah, actually,” you cradle them in the crook of your arm. “you’re lucky i didn’t sell them on the way here.”
she laughs and starts walking, slow steps that match yours, not in a rush. the streets are quieter now, the late-night buzz thinning out. neon signs hum above shuttered storefronts. the occasional vendor still lingers on corners — roasted chestnuts, instant ramyeon, knock-off phone cases.
you walk pass a flower cart that’s still open, tucked between a closed coffee shop and a laundromat with the lights still flickering.
sana stops and without asking, she points to a rose; pale pink, not too big, delicate.
the vendor wraps it without a word. she pays with a crumpled note from her coat pocket and turns to you, holding the flower out with a small, crooked smile.
you shake your head at her. “you’re seriously giving me a rose while i’m carrying your designer heels?”
“i’m rebranding.”
“as what? unbearable?”
she laughs again, nudges you with her shoulder. the rose smells faintly sweet, almost familiar. you take it anyway.
you walk side by side, your pace relaxed now. your body’s still not settled — the alcohol still humming low in your blood but the weight of the evening has eased a little, just enough to let you breathe again.
“what do you even do now?” you ask after a few blocks.
“hmm?” she looks over, adjusting her coat. “work stuff. sort of.”
“you either do or you don’t.”
“okay…i help out at mum’s company.”
“the real estate one?”
she nods, eyes flicking across the road as you wait for the light. “they needed someone to look over marketing and scheduling stuff, so i’ve been doing that. barely. mostly i just answer emails and pretend i know what i’m talking about.”
you nudge her this time. “you might as well come back to yonsei. you’re around so much like taehyung.
“and you’re there still,” she hums thoughtfully, the corner of her mouth twitching. “tempting.”
“i’d give it a week before you start complaining about group projects again.”
“i’d give it two days.”
you both laugh, easy and quiet. it surprises you how natural it still feels — the way your jokes land, the way she looks at you like she knows exactly what’s coming next. the rhythm is familiar, like a song you haven’t heard in years but still remember the words to.
“so you’re not in a rush to do anything else?”
“not really.” she shrugs. “i’ve got time. and money. and…other people’s expectations keeping me conveniently afloat.”
you nod slowly. “must be nice. being a nepo baby and all.”
“it is,” she chuckles, but there’s something behind it. a quiet admission.
you glance at her. the streetlights make her look softer, older. not in a bad way…just real, like the girl you used to know and the woman beside you are starting to blur into one.
you wonder, not for the first time tonight, what would’ve happened if you hadn’t walked away.
but maybe the answer’s always been the same: she would’ve stayed. and you would’ve still been too scared to hold it.
you shift the prada heels in your other arm and keep walking, matching her step for step. she doesn’t speak and neither do you.
by the time the streets start narrowing and the buildings around you shift from late-night diners and neon signs to apartment blocks and quiet windows, your legs ache in that dull, familiar way that says the night is ending. the city doesn’t feel like it’s spinning anymore, but you’re still not steady. the rose sana gave you is tucked into the crook of your elbow, petals bruising gently against your jacket. her shoes swing from your other hand, one heel clinking softly against the other with every step.
the only reason you realise where you’re heading is when you pass the old café — the one with the chipped brick facade and the teal door that never quite shut properly.
you remember the weeks you both kept showing up there like it wasn’t planned. two iced americanos, one croissant split in half. she used to pick the flaky crumbs off your shirt because she demanded it was her right.
your eyes linger on it. “still addicted to their croissant?”
she shrugs, hands in her coat pockets. “only when i miss you.”
your gaze lands on her but she’s not looking at you. just walking, eyes ahead.
you don’t respond because there’s nothing that wouldn’t open you up too wide. and maybe she knows that too, because she doesn’t press.
she turns to you, arms folded over her chest now, the wind tugging gently at her hair. “you should keep them, the heels.”
you raise an eyebrow. “you want me to babysit your pradas?”
“no,” she mumbles, mouth tilting into a half-smile. “i want an excuse to come back and get them.”
the smile she’s wearing is barely holding together. it’s light and joking, but underneath it is something quieter.
you nod, tucking the shoes under your arm. “i’ll make sure they’re fed.”
she snorts. “and walked.”
“twice a day.”
sana’s apartment building is unremarkable — not fancy, not run-down, just another tall stack of small lives. the entrance is lined with concrete planters, one with a half-dead lavender bush in it, the other empty save for cigarette butts and some plastic wrappers. the fluorescent light above the doorway flickers like it’s arguing with the dark.
she slows as you approach, feet dragging a little.
“this is me,” she begine, stopping at the bottom step as her breath curls into the cool air.
you nod, unsure if you’re supposed to keep going or say something first. the silence stretches again, but it’s not sharp anymore. it just sits there with you, quiet and true.
“thank you,” she hums, turning slightly to face you. “for walking me.”
“you didn’t need walking,” you grin, adjusting your grip on the heels. “you just needed company.”
“yeah,” she smiles at that. “maybe i did.”
her eyes scan your face, searching for something, but you don’t flinch, you let her look.
“i used to imagine this moment,” she admits, her voice dropping a little. “us, outside my door. you saying something reckless, me pretending to be annoyed. you’d kiss me. maybe ask to come up.”
you look at her, warmth spreading throughout your entire body.
“but now that you’re here like this,” she goes on, with a breath of quiet laughter. “i think i’m okay.”
you swallow. it rests heavy in your chest — not regret exactly, but something close to it. something shaped like it.
she rocks back on her heels slightly. “i’m moving on, slowly. but i think i needed tonight to remember that i can.”
you don’t know what to say. anything would sound too clean, so you nod again, slow and respectful.
“my door’s always open,” she continues, watching you with fond eyes. “not in a sad way, not even in a hopeful way. just…if you ever forget your way home and decide you want me again.”
you stand there, letting the stillness fold around the moment. she reaches out, touches your elbow briefly; just a press of her fingers against your coat.
then, she leans in and kisses your cheek. not in a way that asks for anything — just goodbye, maybe. or something smaller. something kind.
she steps through the door and disappears up the stairwell without another word. you glance up at her window as the light from her apartment flickers on. you don’t mean to linger, but something about it feels unfinished.
her window opens, and then there she is — hair a little messier now, one arm braced on the frame. her breath visible in the cold.
“forget all the bullshit i said, changed my mind on the way up,” she looks down at you. “do you wanna come up for tea?”
you laugh without meaning to.
she grins wider. “i’ve got peppermint and a very expired packet of ginger snaps.”
you shake your head. “you’re terrible at selling this.”
“you came all this way — might as well see what else i’ve got going for me.”
“i’m coming.”
you take the stairs two at a time. the shoes still tucked under your arm, the rose from earlier pressed into your coat pocket. her door’s already open when you reach the top.
she’s standing in the hallway barefoot, your sneakers kicked off near the wall and she looks at you like she’s been expecting you forever.
and for the first time in a long while, stepping inside doesn’t feel like a mistake. it just feels…warm.
she closes the door behind you. no promises. no labels, just the comfort of being wanted, even now. even still.
there’s the faint smell of clean laundry and maybe jasmine, whatever perfume sana wore last week and left on a jumper somewhere.
the first thing you do when you step inside is take off your coat, lay it neatly across the arm of the lounge, then walk over to the entryway where the shoe rack sits tucked into the wall. sana’s heels are still in your hands — you place them down beside her other (also expensive) shoes with more care than you mean to, aligning them so they won’t lean or fall.
next, you pull the rose from your coat pocket. it’s slightly bruised now from the walk, the petals a little crushed at the edges, but still lovely and soft. there’s a glass vase on a side table near the tv, empty except for dust. you fill it halfway at the sink, then nestle the stem inside.
sana notices the gesture, pauses mid-step in the hallway and says nothing; just watches you with something unreadable in her expression before disappearing into the bedroom.
the silence settles around you like breath held in the throat. you take a few slow steps through the open living space and everything about it tugs at something quiet inside you.
the rug is still the same pale beige, fraying slightly at the corners. the bookshelf still leans left, stuffed with too many paperbacks stacked horizontally when there wasn’t space left upright. the second drawer of the kitchen counter — the one that always stuck — is still chipped at the edge. and in the corner of the living room, barely visible behind the curtain, that small dent in the wall from when sana once tried to hang a painting without measuring.
you haven’t been here in years and yet it looks exactly as you remember. she is someone who never saw the point of changing something that worked.
it makes your chest ache in a way that doesn’t feel urgent, just inevitable.
“you need help in there?” you call out when she takes too long, not too loudly.
“nope,” her voice comes muffled, followed by the thud of a closing wardrobe door. “just trying to find something less…constricting.”
you smirk at the word: familiar, dramatic and hers.
a few minutes pass before she reappears, barefoot, hair loosely tied back, wearing a hoodie that’s clearly too big for her shoulders. it takes you a second — and then you know. it’s yours. grey, worn soft at the cuffs, the hem fraying just slightly. it used to be your favourite.
you stare at it for a beat too long. “is that mine?”
she glances down, feigns surprise. “oh? must’ve slipped into my laundry years ago.”
you laugh, a little hoarse. “you’re unbelievable.”
“and comfortable,” she adds, tugging the sleeves down over her hands.
you lean back against the counter, arms crossed, letting your eyes follow her as she moves through the kitchen. she knows where everything is without looking — mugs clinking softly as she opens the cupboard, pauses, mutters something under her breath.
she crouches slightly to check the tea tin, frowns. “where the fuck are my teabags?”
you raise an eyebrow. “that your idea of a welcoming host?”
“i had peppermint,” she groans. “last week. unless my fridge is eating things again.”
“maybe it’s trying to protect you.”
“from what?”
“peppermint tea,” you say and she laughs.
she fills the kettle with water, sets it on the stove and turns the dial. the flame flares. she flinches slightly when she brushes the side with her hand. “shit —”
you move forward instinctively, but she waves you off, shaking her hand out with a wince. “i’m fine. just punishment for poor organisation.”
you hover beside the counter while she spoons loose tea into a strainer, finally deciding on something chamomile adjacent. she passes over a filled mug and you cradle it in your hands like warmth might make sense again.
the television’s already on, volume low, playing a rerun of friends. the one where joey finds out. the laugh track rises faintly in the background, the kind of noise that keeps a room from feeling too still.
you take a seat beside her on the couch, legs pulled up, drink warm against your palms.
“so, you still drink peppermint?” she asks, settling deeper into the cushions.
you raise your mug. “still pretending.”
she stares at you for a second then lets out this low, incredulous laugh, burying her face into the side of the couch. “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“what?”
“you hated it, didn’t you?”
you nod. “always did.”
she throws her head back and laughs again, the sound catching on itself, thinning at the edges like it might tip into something else. she recovers quickly, exhales slow, long. “god, we were so dumb.”
“we were,” you agree, sipping your tea.
the warmth settles in your chest, not from the drink, but from her…from the way she sits beside you like no time has passed, like you hadn’t disappeared on her and she doesn’t carry the weight of that.
“what’ve you been reading these days?” you ask, eyes on the screen.
“some essay collection about unfinished cities. buildings that stopped mid-construction and became part of the landscape.”
you glance at her. “you always did love a metaphor.”
“it’s depressing as shit.”
“so, you.”
she bumps your knee with hers; it stays there “what about you? still planning to leave after graduation?”
you stare into your mug. “i don’t know. some days, yeah. some days i feel like i’d get lost anywhere else.”
“you wouldn’t,” she insists. not like a promise.
you look at her — properly, this time. and she looks at you like she’s always known the version of you you’re trying so hard to become.
“we were young.”
“you were scared,” she replies.
“you were patient.”
“too patient.”
she doesn’t flinch when she says it. there’s no resentment or longing behind it. it’s the softness of someone who’s already made peace with the waiting.
you set your mug down on the coffee table, watching the way the steam curls and fades. the tv drones on, another laugh track, another joke you don’t catch.
“i tried dating,” she admits so quietly you almost miss it. your head turns. she’s staring at the carpet now, legs tucked up, fingers curled around her own mug like it’s holding her back. “a couple of people. it just…didn’t work.”
you wait, letting her take her time.
“no one made me laugh like you did,” she smiles, longing. “or pissed me off the way you did. which i think’s part of the appeal.”
you smile faintly. she looks at you then, eyes steadier than they’ve been all night.
“i’m not asking for another chance, i just want you to know — if you need me, i’m still here. not waiting. just…here. however you want.”
your chest tightens. “i’m not ready and i don’t want to hurt you.”
“i know.”
“but i don’t want to lose you again.”
she leans in, rests her head on your shoulder. her body’s close but not heavy. “then don’t.”
after a while, she lies down along the couch, arms tucked in close to her chest, she pats the space beside her without looking.
you lie down, slowly. her body curves away from yours. the blanket’s barely covering both of you. her foot brushes yours under it, once, and then doesn’t move again.
you close your eyes. and for the first time in weeks — maybe months…nothing inside you hurts. because for tonight, being near her is enough. not everything needs to be fixed. some things are allowed to just exist. gently.
like this.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the first thing you feel is weight — soft and warm across your chest, like a blanket with breath. then the tickle of hair against your neck, the faintest hint of perfume and sleep.
sana’s hair is everywhere, tangled across your collarbone, your throat, her cheek pressed just under the dip of your shoulder. her breath rises and falls in shallow rhythms, lips parted slightly, eyelashes fanned across her cheek. her arms are curled in close, one leg tangled with yours.
the living room is dim, daylight leaking in thin threads through the drawn curtains. the tv is still on, volume low, flickering through an infomercial for kitchenware neither of you would ever buy.
you lie still for a while, your arm numb beneath her, but you don’t move. it’s the kind of quiet that feels earned. the television’s off, the world outside still hushed by early light. your shirt is soft beneath you, her hoodie still faintly smells like detergent and something else you don’t have a name for.
sana stirs awake as you shift; she mumbles something incomprehensible before burying her face deeper into the space between your shoulder and neck. her voice is sleep-rough, barely there. “is it morning?”
“barely,” you murmur. “maybe past noon.”
she groans, pulling herself upright slowly. her eyes are heavy-lidded as she stretches, arms raised above her head, hoodie slipping up her stomach. she blinks at you through the strands of hair falling over her eyes.
“you want breakfast or lunch or…whatever time it is?” she asks, rubbing her temple.
you sit up too, slower, still reeling from the weight of sleep and the mild throb behind your eyes. “just coffee, if that’s alright. i’ve got a lecture in like an hour.”
she nods, yawning. “coffee’s fine. use whatever’s there. i think the moka pot still works. oh — and i left some clothes on the bed if you want to shower.”
you pause, your fingers resting at your temple. “you didn’t have to.”
“i know,” she says, pushing herself off the couch. “but i wanted to.”
you stand, stretching. those vodka shots sit at the bottom of your gut like coins tossed in too deep.
the hallway to her bedroom is dim and narrow. the moment you step inside, the smell hits you — faint floral perfume on the bedspread. the clothes are folded at the edge of the bed. yours, but not ones you remember leaving behind. you touch the fabric absently.
everything’s still here. not just the objects, but the version of you that once belonged in this room, in this light.
in the shower, the water is warm and noisy, echoing against tile. you stand with your forehead against the wall, eyes closed, breathing in the steam. the heat helps a little, but your stomach still turns. not from the alcohol…not entirely.
jimin creeps in around the edges — her voice, her hands, her apology over the phone. the way she said your name like it still meant something. you press your eyes shut tighter. the weight of it lands differently now. you’re not angry, but you feel sick in a way you don’t know how to explain.
you towel off quickly. dress in the clothes sana laid out. they smell faintly of drawer wood and lemon detergent as you brush your fingers through your damp hair in the mirror and avoid looking yourself in the eyes too long.
your phone’s now dead, pulling it from your coat pocket and putting it back. you could ask for a charger but you don’t, not today.
the quiet feels cleaner without it.
when you walk back into the kitchen, sana’s seated on the counter, still in your hoodie, legs crossed, scrolling through something on her phone.
she looks up, smiles when she sees you, soft and unguarded. “looking good.”
you cross to her, press a quick kiss to her cheek without thinking about it — it lingers a little too long.
“thank you,” you clear your throat, blushing slightly.
she tilts her head, smile deepening. “for what?”
“for letting me stay over and…this.”
quickly, you turn away before she can answer, walk to the windows and tug them open. light floods in slowly, catching dust motes in the air.
you flick the kettle on and open the same cupboard she did the night before. the tea is still there, barely touched. but you need something stronger. you find the coffee — ground and sealed in a jar with a crooked label and brew it black.
the scent fills the space quickly, bitter and grounding. you don’t drink it. just pour it into a travel mug you find by the sink.
“what are you up to today?”
sana shakes her head, letting out a groan. “sleeping all day. maybe go shopping.”
“what a hard life.”
“so much easier when you’re around,” she playfully bites back. “good luck dealing with jimin.”
you bite your lip, rolling your eyes. “don’t remind me.”
before you leave, you pull a scrap of paper from her notebook and scribble a note. your handwriting is messier than usual, letters uneven.
thanks for the tea and the shoes. maybe dinner sometime this week? – y/n.
you place it beside her laptop. she hasn’t noticed yet, still distracted by whatever’s on her phone. you don’t say goodbye out loud. just slip on your coat, take one last look at her in your hoodie, barefoot, head bowed.
“i’m off,” you look up from the front door, smiling. “see you?”
“see you later, have fun!” she waves as you step out quietly and close the door behind you.
the hallway smells faintly of dust and coffee burns your tongue. you don’t know what any of this means, not yet, but for now…it’s enough.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the lecture passes like fog. you sit through it with your eyes fixed on the front, pen barely moving across the page. your body’s there, but everything else is caught somewhere between the echo of last night and the strange quiet that followed.
the words on the slides blur in front of you. all you register is the sting behind your eyes and the way your body feels, like you’re still curling up on sana’s couch, the taste of black coffee lingering at the back of your throat. you had barely eaten.
the lecture ends and you move without thinking, slipping your notebook into your tote bag and pushing through the doors before anyone can speak to you. you just want to go home.
not even to your dorm — just anywhere private. anywhere karina isn’t.
the air outside is warm and smells faintly of smoke. sunlight pours through the golgen gingko trees that line the pavement. your head still aches while campus hums around you, students filtering out of buildings, bikes passing and someone’s laughing a little too loudly.
there’s something dizzying about moving through a place that feels so normal while everything in you is still reeling. you reach the main gate and glance across the road just as a black mercedes pulls up. tinted windows. clean, polished, like it doesn’t belong anywhere near a uni campus.
the window slides down; her.
“get in,” karina says, voice thin. “i’ll take you home.”
you stare at her for a moment too long, trying to decipher something in her eyes that doesn’t make your head spin. there’s nothing to find. she looks like she hasn’t slept. you’re too exhausted to argue. you don’t want to get in. every part of you screams against it. but your limbs are slow and your lungs ache and your legs are beginning to shake from the cold. so you open the passenger door and slide in.
there’s no makeup on her face, not even the tinted lip balm she used to reapply like muscle memory. her hair’s knotted up in a bun that clearly wasn’t meant to be seen. the jumper she’s wearing is too big, sleeves swallowing half her fingers and the pants don’t even match.
she just looks tired, no, wrecked.
she exhales like she’s been holding her breath the whole time. “you’re okay,” she adds. it sounds like relief; saying it more for herself.
you study her face — the raw edges of it, how her eyes flicker all over you. and you’re so tired, so sick of the push and pull of her voice in your chest. you let the silence stretch for a second too long before saying flatly: “i’m okay, karina.”
maybe it’s to protect yourself or maybe it’s punishment. either way, it lands like a slap.
she flinches at the name. her fingers tighten around the steering wheel, just barely. but she doesn’t argue as she starts driving and you let the silence hang between you like fogged-up glass.
the ache builds slowly in your chest. there’s no energy left for anger, not properly. just this numb, weightless sort of fatigue, like everything inside you has been wrung out.
you start counting things you’ll miss about her. the way she drove you crazy at the worst times. the smug little look she gave you when she knew she had won…her hands, her laugh, her breath warm against your shoulder whenever she fell asleep too close.
you’ll miss her like bruises miss the skin they belonged to.
but then again, you never really had her, did you? not fully; not without consequence.
what happened between the two of you these past few months wasn’t love. it was everything else: longing, want, secrecy, ache.
everything but love.
she speaks again. “i couldn’t sleep. i stayed at the dorm. i was worried sick, my love.”
you let the words hang in the air for a beat too long. “why?”
you don’t look at her because you don’t owe her softness anymore.
she shifts slightly in her seat and her eyes flick down to your clothes; her expression changing. the pieces click together in her mind.
the oversized shirt and hoodie, the joggers that aren’t yours and she already knows. she just wants to hear it.
“whose clothes are those?”
you sigh, your mouth starting to taste like regret.
“sana’s,” you answer, turning your head just enough to see her reaction. “i was at her apartment.”
karina lets out a sound between a laugh and a scoff. the kind that builds out of disbelief. “right. because she’s always just taking care of you, isn’t she?”
your head turns toward her. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“it means,” she snaps, jaw clenching. “that she’s clearly still fucking in love with you and you’re playing into it!”
you don’t respond right away. the silence between you grows sharp teeth and you think of sana sitting cross-legged on the couch last night, pouring you a cup of tea, tucking her hair behind her ears like it wasn’t supposed to mean something — the way she looked at you like you were worth the mess…as if she wanted you to want her back.
“and you’re in love with your boyfriend,” you bite back before you can stop yourself. your voice cracks, bitter and tired. “so what the fuck is your point?”
she flinches. “it’s not the same —”
“isn’t it?” you cut in. “you get to play girlfriend when you feel like it. post pictures, meet your parents, hold his hand in public like it means nothing. and then you show up at my dorm in the middle of the night like i’m supposed to be yours too.”
silence slams into the car again. you can feel it thicken, feel it bleed into your bones. she doesn’t say anything but her knuckles are white.
the campus disappears behind you as you watch the road for a while. red brick turns into old terrace houses and you feel the exhaustion settle behind your ribs again. you hate this version of you: the cold one, but you don’t know how else to protect yourself from her.
“pull over,” you say gently now. “let me drive.”
she shakes her head and you catch her wiping under her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper. “don’t do that. don’t pretend like this was just —just something that happened.”
“what was it then?” you ask, heaving out a sigh. “a glitch in the matrix? some fling to get you through your quarter-life crisis?”
her eyes start to shine again. but this time, she doesn’t bother hiding it. “you know it wasn’t that.”
“i don’t know anything anymore…i thought i did.”
“i’ll leave him,” she whispers. “i swear to god, y/n, i’ll leave him right now. just don’t walk away; i’ll do anything.”
you stare at her. not the version that gets followed around campus and not the name everyone knows. just her. the girl who used to stay up late telling you about her mother’s garden, about how sometimes she didn’t want to follow the path carved out for her, about the songs she never released.
and you don’t know which parts of her were real anymore.
“i’m tired,” you let out, voice thick. “i’m tired of being your second choice. of pretending it doesn’t hurt when you smile at him like he is the only person in the room.”
you take a breath that catches in your throat. “i saw you, jimin. all those times you thought i wasn’t looking. and you looked really, really happy.”
she shakes her head, tears spilling now. “i wasn’t. not the way i am with you.”
you close your eyes. it makes it worse because all you can see is her laughing in your hoodie. you see her brushing your hair behind your ear, forehead pressed to yours in the dark.
you shake your head, suddenly too tired again. “i wish it was me. i wish you were proud of me like that.”
she doesn’t have an answer, just reaches out across the space, fingers brushing against yours like a question.
you pull your hand back instantly.
“you think this has been easy for me?” she continues, her voice breaking. “you think i liked lying to everyone? lying to myself?”
you stare at her.
“you didn’t lie to anyone, you were his girlfriend in public and you were still his girlfriend in private — you made me your secret.”
“we could still happen,” she croaks out. “we could make it work. please.”
the fragile belief you’ve been holding to suddenly collapses inside of you. “no, we couldn’t…we were a mistake and you know that.”
you stare out the window again, trees blurring past. the ache sharpens and you want to throw up.
“no,” she breathes. her hand slips over the centre console, fingers reaching for yours again. “please, let me make it right — please give me that chance.”
she finally pulls over in front of your dorm and the engine idles. she doesn’t look at you but her shoulders are shaking as you reach for the door handle.
“please,” she says, not looking at you. “stay. just for a bit. don’t go, not like this.”
“thank you for the ride,” you mumble. “and for everything else, karina.”
and this time there’s no softness in your eyes when you look at her. only the quiet, hollow kind of finality that comes when you’ve run out of reasons to stay.
“don’t look back,” you add.
and then you step out, shuttint the door behind you.
you don’t look back either, not once, not when her sobs finally break out through the closed windows.
not even when your chest burns so deeply it feels like grief.
you just walk.
and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself feel what it means to leave.
to really, truly leave.
the dorm is warm when you walk in, maybe too warm. someone’s turned the heater on too high and the air feels close, thick with the scent of leftover coffee and the cheap jasmine incense yunjin always insists on burning after someone cries.
your eyes sting from the heat and the smell and the quiet — all of it too much, too pressing after the cold air outside. you close the door behind you, drop your bag near the shoe rack and only then notice how still everything is.
then you hear it. that unmistakable shuffle of socks on wood.
“y/n-nie?”
giselle appears first from the kitchen, holding a mug with both hands like she had just been standing there for something to do. her eyes flick down to your shoes, your hoodie, your face —assessing quietly, not pushing. behind her, ryujin and yunjin linger near the lounge, both stiff in place, like they’ve been pacing until the very moment they heard the door.
“you’re home,” yunjin speaks, voice oddly gentle, as if too loud might break something. she’s in pyjamas, hair in two messy plaits, a blanket half-draped over her shoulder like she tried to sleep on the couch and failed.
you nod, swallowing around the dryness in your throat. “yeah.”
there’s a beat of cautious silence. giselle places the mug down on the bench without sipping, then walks over to you, her steps slow.
“we were worried,” she reveals and it’s not dramatic or scolding.
you shrug off your jumper, the fabric damp from the weather and draping it over the back of a chair. none of them move closer, but they don’t pull away either.
the tension isn’t sharp — it’s concern, threaded in a way only people who love you know how to do. no one asks anything yet, as if they’re waiting for permission.
you sigh, rubbing your face with both hands and your voice comes out cracked. “i was at sana’s.”
ryujin blinks. “like…all night?”
you nod, your eyes still focused on the wooden floor. it has a small stain near the corner where giselle spilled hot chocolate a month ago. you never bothered to clean it properly. now you’re staring at it like it might explain something. “yeah, i didn’t know where else to go.”
giselle crosses her arms over her chest as she begins to process what you just told them. yunjin opens her mouth, then closes it again.
“she took care of me,” you add softly. “just…sat with me. made sure i didn’t drown in my own vomit. gave me coffee this morning but that’s it.”
a silence stretches again, this one heavier.
then: “so,” giselle starts, cautious as ever. “what about…well, what happened with jimin?”
you suck in a slow breath. it tastes like regret. “it’s done.”
none of them react right away.
it feels like disappointment and relief all tangled together, like crying after holding your breath too long. you sit on the edge of the couch, hands slack in your lap, trying to breathe through the heaviness sitting on your chest.
“like…actually done?” yunjin says after a moment, her brows furrowed.
“she lied to me,” your throat thickens. “turns out she’s been planning a europe trip with jaewook over the break. she said she was going to leave him, made me believe it. all while booking flights and making dinner reservations.”
the room stills again. giselle’s eyes harden and yunjin sits next to you, her blanket still half-on, half-off, and rests her head on your shoulder. she doesn’t say anything. just that.
ryujin bites her lip. “what the actual fuck,” then disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a half-eaten box of almond pocky. she tosses it in your lap. “you’re gonna need this.”
you snort, barely, but the sound catches in your throat.
giselle walks over and crouches in front of you, one hand on your knee, the other reaching to take your hand. she squeezes gently, like she’s grounding you. maybe she’s always been your anchor and you didn’t notice until now.
“you don’t deserve that,” she assures you, her voice quiet but unwavering. “none of it. not the lies, not the hiding…not being made to feel like a backup plan.”
you blink fast, vision starting to blur. she leans forward and pulls you into a hug. it’s the kind that doesn’t ask for anything back.
“i’m proud of you,” she whispers. “you didn’t wait around for crumbs this time.”
you press your face into her shoulder, throat tight. you don’t cry, not fully, but you feel something loosen as your fingers curl into the fabric of her jumper.
ryujin plops down dramatically on the other side of the couch. “should we start a jimin recovery playlist? i’ve got at least seven breakup bangers that scream ‘i hate you please die’.”
“only seven?” yunjin scoffs. “you’re slacking.”
“i’ve been saving my best material,” she rolls her eyes, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “but don’t worry, we’ll heal your heart with a highly curated mix of charli xcx, revenge fantasy pop and taylor swift if you’re up for it. the spiteful taylor. none of that mature, understanding bullshit.”
you laugh, quietly, but it’s real. the sound feels strange in your mouth, it doesn’t belong to you yet, but it’s something.
yunjin sits up straighter. “and i vote we get drunk next weekend like so drunk you forget jimin’s last name.”
“already forgot it,” you mumble, wiping under your eye with your sleeve. “her name’s karina, remember?”
they all groan in unison.
“disgusting,” ryujin mutters.
“i liked her better when she was just rumoured to be dating that heiress from italy,” yunjin adds, shaking her head. “that era had mystery.”
“we’re not doing eras,” giselle whines, pulling back from the hug but keeping her hand on your arm. “we’re doing healing. and coffee. and maybe a bad horror movie marathon.”
you nod, finally looking at them properly. “thank you.”
you mean it.
giselle smiles. “always.”
the sun has dipped low behind the buildings outside, casting long shadows across the window panes. the wind picks up again, whistling faintly against the glass. winter’s coming in sharp, cold bursts — but in here, in this small flat with its mismatched mugs and blanket piles and people who don’t let you fall apart alone; it feels like you might survive it.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
god, you hate this back room. it smells like old denim and the faint lemon of cleaning spray. it’s cramped, cluttered and there are scarves spilling out of bins, old jackets draped over mannequins with missing arms and a stack of shoeboxes taunting you from the corner like they know you haven’t done inventory in weeks. you’re holding a clipboard, pen dangling loosely from your fingers, but you haven’t ticked a single box in the last ten minutes.
taehyung is crouched by the bottom shelf, trying to match a pair of cowboy boots to their brand tags. he keeps making dumb comments under his breath like, “these boots were made for emotionally unavailable women,” or “do you reckon i could pull these off if i dropped out of uni and started busking in hongdae?”
normally, you would laugh. maybe roll your eyes and call him insufferable but you don’t. not today.
“okay,” he says suddenly, standing up and brushing dust off his knees. “no offence, but you’re being kind of a weirdo right now and it’s freaking me out.”
you blink up at him. “i’m doing stocktake.”
“you’ve been counting the same three belts for ten minutes.”
you glance down. this is true. you had forgotten what number you were on.
he tilts his head, crossing his arms loosely. “what’s going on?”
you don’t answer at first. the room’s too small and your throat’s tight like there’s something stuck in it that won’t come loose.
he steps closer. “hey, stop pretending it’s nothing. just tell me.”
you set the clipboard down. slow, like your hands don’t really belong to you. the words come out quieter than you expect. “i ended it.”
he frowns. “with karina?”
you nod. “a few days ago.”
you don’t say anything for a while and neither does he. you pull your sleeves over your hands, wiping your palms against them absently. “i haven’t been sleeping right. or studying. i tried to open my casebook last night and just stared at the table of contents for an hour.”
you swallow. “and she’s still with him. she hasn’t even left him.”
he winces, like he didn’t expect that part. “shit.”
you sit down on one of the old ottomans, exhaling hard through your nose. “you were right…you and everyone else.”
and finally, your voice cracks. “it was just a game to her.”
taehyung moves quickly but gently, crouches in front of you, one knee on the dusty floor. his hands hover awkwardly before landing lightly on your knees.
you laugh, but it breaks midway and turns into a sob. “i feel so fucking stupid.”
your whole body folds in, shoulders quaking. the tears come hard and ugly, the kind you tried to fight for days. you hate crying in front of people, how loud it feels in your ears, how it makes your nose run and your skin feel too thin.
“top of my class,” you mutter bitterly. “but i fall for someone who can’t even be proud of me, who won’t even say my name when other people are around.”
he doesn’t say anything, but wraps his arms around you and holds you to his chest, one hand rubbing circles along your back. he smells like fabric softener and the bakery next door.
you bury your face into his cardigan. he stays quiet, not offering hollow reassurances; just letting you come apart.
and then the bell on the front door rings.
you don’t even look up, but his voice cuts in softly. “hey, give us a sec — oh. it’s you.”
you hear a pause. then his hand gives your shoulder one last squeeze before he pulls back.
“i’ll go get coffee,” he murmurs, standing. “you two talk.”
you sniff and lift your head slightly. standing in the doorway, silhouetted by late afternoon light and soft specks of dust in the air, is sana.
she’s wearing a simple black turtleneck and jeans. her hair’s darker now — dyed black, freshly cut, tucked behind her ears. she looks softer. less like the girl who used to demand attention the second she entered a room and more like the one who made you coffee every morning with a grin on her face.
“hi,” she greets gently. “you look…terrible.”
you try to laugh; it’s shaky.
“thanks,” you croak out, wiping your nose with your sleeve. “great to see you too.”
sana kneels in front of you like taehyung had. she reaches up and brushes your cheeks gently, thumbs catching your tears before they fall again. her touch is light, careful, but not unsure. you didn’t realise how much you missed being touched like that.
“you’re okay,” she assures, more to you than to herself. “you’re okay.”
you shake your head. “i’m a mess.”
“so was i,” she smiles. “after us. you remember?”
you do, of course you do. there were nights she showed up at your door in the middle of the night with swollen eyes and takeout she never touched; the way she apologised for loving you too much, or maybe not in the right way.
you glance up at her again. “you dyed your hair.”
she smiles, brushing a strand behind her ear. “felt like a change.”
“what brings you here?”
“you invited me,” she answrs simply.
you blink. “i did?”
“yeah,” she nods. “you left a note in my laptop case last week. about dinner.”
you remember now — hurried handwriting on a torn bit of paper. you didn’t even think she saw it. you didn’t think anything of it, really.
“when you didn’t reply to my texts after that,” she continued. “i knew something was wrong; unless you wanted to ghost me.”
you drop your gaze again. “it’s been bad.”
“i can tell.”
she reaches for your hand andyou let her take it.
“you don’t have to tell me everything, just…let me be here.”
you don’t say much after that. but maybe you don’t need to. perhaps, just sitting there; knees touching, her thumb tracing the edge of your palm, is enough for now.
sana doesn’t let go of your hand and you don’t pull away. the back room is still, filled with the quiet hum of the overhead light and the distant muffled rhythm of taehyung’s playlist bleeding in from the speakers out front.
you study the edge of her sleeve where it’s fraying a little at the cuff. her thumb keeps brushing back and forth across your palm like she’s absentmindedly trying to smooth out all the jaggedness left behind by the last few months.
“i’m sorry for how i was,” you say quietly.
she looks up at you, but doesn’t interrupt.
“when we ended; i know i wasn’t easy.”
she gives you a small smile, one that tugs gently at the corners of her mouth but doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “neither was i.”
you shake your head, eyes fixed on some scuff mark on the floor. “i used to think you were too good for me, maybe that wasn’t fair.”
“or maybe it was,” she says softly. “i was selfish. i didn’t know how to love without making it about me; it wouldn’t have been the right time anyway.”
your throat tightens again, but not in the same way it did earlier.
“still,” she adds, eyes softening. “i loved you.”
your breath catches in your chest. not from the weight of the words, but the calm way she says them — like she’s not afraid of their shape anymore.
“and honestly, i think part of me always will,” she continues. “but that doesn’t mean you owe me anything.”
you look at her.
her dark hair frames her face in soft waves now, the roots even and glossy, catching little bits of light every time she shifts. her gaze doesn’t falter, not like jimin’s. she isn’t searching your face for permission or forgiveness. she’s just…here.
the same girl who used to bring you croissants and wait outside your tutorials just to drive you home. and the same girl you pushed away.
“i don’t know what i’m doing,” you murmur.
“that makes two of us,” she replies, and finally, finally, it makes you smile.
you lean your head back against the shelf and close your eyes for a moment. somewhere outside, a motorbike revs and a car honks, but it all feels distant, like background noise in someone else’s memory.
sana shifts a little, tucking one knee up as she rests her chin on it. “i know she hurt you.”
you don’t respond.
“and i know it’s not about her anymore. it’s about how much of yourself you gave her, how hard you tried to be enough.”
it’s exactly that; because you bent yourself backwards for a love that never made room for you; because you believed that if you just waited, if you just held on longer, maybe you would be chosen.
“you don’t have to fix it overnight,” she squeezes your hand. “you just have to get through today. and then tomorrow.”
you open your eyes.
“what if i don’t want to feel anything anymore?”
“then feel nothing. just let your body sit and exist. i’ll be here either way.”
you don’t realise you’re crying again until she gently reaches up to wipe at your cheeks, thumbs warm and steady.
you sniff and laugh a little through it. “i’m gross.”
“you’re beautiful,” she reminds you and she doesn’t say it like a line.
you exhale shakily, chest rising and falling with the slow rhythm of finally letting yourself be held together instead of holding it all in.
you nod, almost imperceptibly. “hey, you want to help me count shoes?”
she laughs. “only if you let me keep the jelly sandals in a size too small.”
you roll your eyes. “deal.”
she gets up first, tugging your hand gently until you follow. the world outside is still there, still cold, still complicated. but for now, you’re in this small, overstuffed back room that smells like dust and history and maybe a little bit of burnt vanilla and gasoline station perfume, standing next to someone who knows how to hold space.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the place is nothing like the places you usually go to…unless you were with she-who-can’t-be-named. the lighting is low and gold-toned like everything’s been dipped in honey. even the chairs feel too generous.
you watch sana from across the table. she’s dressed like it didn’t take her any effort at all —high-waisted trousers and a cashmere coat, hair tucked behind her ears, her lipstick a subtle red that hasn’t smudged even after sipping from her wine glass.
she knows which fork to use and she talks to the waiter like she’s done this a hundred times. maybe she has.
it makes you sit a little straighter without realising.
“you’re really leaning into this chaebol heiress look,” you say, trying to sound amused, though your tone comes out a bit too dry.
she blinks at you, then smiles. “i’m not leaning into anything. this is just how i grew up.”
you frown slightly. “i thought your family did real estate?”
“they do,” she replies, lightly tearing off a piece of bread, “and hotels. and department stores. and resorts.“
you stop mid-chew, jaw tightening slowly. “wait, like…multiple?”
“yeah,” she answers, dipping her bread into olive oil. “we don’t really talk about it unless we need to.”
you set your knife down. you feel suddenly underdressed, under qualified and under-everything.
she gives you a knowing look. “don’t look at me like that. you already know half of yonsei’s student body is secretly the next chaebol generation. taehyung’s family owns half the city and we all get jewellery from irene’s family.”
you nod. “right.”
you knew taehyung was rich because his card never gets declined and he doesn’t flinch at 500,000 won bar tabs for two people but you didn’t realise how many of your classmates were sitting on invisible thrones.
in the years you knew her, sana was never flashy.
you laugh a little, pressing your water glass to your lips just to cool your face. “this explains why everyone’s so casually unbothered all the time.”
she chuckles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “that’s just generational wealth and no student loans.”
the food arrives slowly, each dish set down like a performance. truffle pasta, scallop carpaccio, slices of bread still warm from the oven. you focus on the steam rising from your plate, hoping the heat might settle something in your chest.
sana makes a few jokes about the menu being in italian and the wine being impossible to pronounce. she’s easy to talk to, even when your brain won’t stop whirring.
you’re almost halfway through your meal when you notice her hand pause halfway to her wine glass.
you look up.
her gaze is fixed over your shoulder, her expression suddenly unreadable.
“shit,” she mutters.
you turn.
and there they are.
karina, in a long charcoal coat and glossy black boots, walking side by side with jaewook, who’s grinning at something she just said. they don’t see you at first. you could turn around and stay quiet and pretend this isn’t happening.
but you don’t.
she looks around, her eyes landing on you.
her steps are slow and then she stops entirely. jaewook turns, confused, until his eyes find yours. his face lights up in that smug, entitled way you always hated; like nothing touches him.
sana shifts beside you, her fingers curling slightly against her wine glass. “we can leave.”
you glance at her, then shake your head. “no,” your voice is steady and it surprises you. “i’m fine.”
you place your hand over hers, her knuckles are cold. you squeeze gently.
jaewook approaches with a glint in his eye that makes your stomach twist. “well, well, so it’s you and sana after all.”
you don’t reply.
he leans forward slightly, his tone low and amused. “and you made such a show of denying her in the car.”
you don’t look at karina. you can feel her there, just behind him, still silent.
“have a good night,” you immediately shut the conversation down, keeping your voice clipped and neutral.
he laughs. “don’t worry, i will.”
karina steps forward and grabs his arm, her voice low. “don’t be such an ass — let’s go.”
he lets himself be led away, still grinning.
you stare down at your plate, your appetite’s gone. you hear the clinking of plates, a burst of laughter from the next table, the hum of a song you don’t recognise.
sana moves again, drawing your eyes back to her. her gaze is steady. “tell me about your parents,” she says gently, reminding you that you’re still here. “how are they?”
you sigh. “they’re okay. mum’s still watching every cooking show on earth and dad sends me weather updates from our town like i don’t have the same forecast app.”
she smiles. “that sounds comforting.”
“it is.”
she asks you what countries you would want to visit, you tell her about a childhood obsession with iceland and the way you used to look up glacier hikes online. she tells you about getting snowed in at a ryokan in sapporo and how magical it was. she’s trying, you realise. not to distract you…but to pull you back toward something that isn’t about them.
and for a while, it works. you laugh. really laugh. you lean forward and wipe your mouth with your napkin and let her smile reach you.
before dessert, you excuse yourself quietly, slipping into the bathroom down the hall. the marble counters feel too clean as you stare at yourself for a while, adjusting your hair even though there’s nothing wrong with it.
your cheeks are flushed, your lips are still a little red — you look fine.
but your chest feels tight because sana’s waiting outside and she’s perfect and patient and real, and you want to want her cleanly. fully. without looking over your shoulder.
but you’re not there yet.
and it doesn’t help that the bathroom is too quiet.
you run the tap but don’t wash your hands — just listen to the sound of it, trying to pace your breathing against the rhythm of the water. there’s something behind your eyes that’s ready to crack open if you let it.
there’s a faint crease on your cheek from where you leaned on your hand earlier. your eyes look swollen with too many nights of half-sleep and too many mornings where you woke up already bracing for the weight of the day.
sana had looked at you with so much patience over dinner; her smile came without conditions. she was there; not watching the door or distracted.
definitely not waiting for someone else to call her away.
and yet, when jaewook and jimin walked in, your body still betrayed you and your thoughts still unravelled in the space between their footsteps and the sound of sana’s voice trying to bring you back.
the marble is cold under your fingertips as you grip the edge of the sink. you don’t know what to do with this.
you don’t know what to do with the way sana makes you feel calm and seen and steady; and how karina still manages to set off something just beneath your ribs that feels like longing — or regret — or something worse.
it’s not fair to sana; not when she’s still in there, probably sipping her wine and pretending the lump in your throat didn’t appear the moment karina’s eyes met yours.
you fix your hair slowly, smoothing it behind your ears, avoiding your reflection now.
the door swings open and your breath stops because you know the weight of that presence before you even lift your head.
karina doesn’t say anything right away. the silence is dense — so dense you could carve into it with a knife. you feel her watching you through the mirror, like she’s trying to will you to turn around.
you keep your hands steady, adjusting the collar of your shirt. you don’t want this…not here, not like this.
“have you been fucking her all along?”
the question cuts through the quiet so abruptly that for a second, you think you misheard her. but the cold in her voice is unmistakable as if she’s furious and doesn’t know where to put it.
you turn slowly, meeting her eyes.
she’s standing near the door, jaw set, her hands curled into tight fists at her sides. her eyes are glassy and it makes something twist inside you —because you remember what it feels like to be the reason for that look.
you remember nights when she stared at you the same way, but with tenderness instead of suspicion.
you shake your head at her. “don’t do that.”
“don’t do what?” she spits, stepping closer. “don’t ask questions you clearly don’t want to answer?”
“this isn’t your business anymore.”
her breathing is shallow; she swallows hard. her eyes flicker across your face like she’s searching for something to hold onto.
“you told me you wanted me to choose you,” she continues, voice faltering. “so here i am. ready to choose you. just say it. tell me what to do and i’ll fucking do it.”
you heave out a sigh, but it doesn’t steady you. “you had months, karina.”
“i was scared.”
“so was i!”
“then tell me it’s not too late,” she pleads, stepping forward again. “please tell me there’s still a version of this where i get to have you.”
you close your eyes. for one second; just one.
because this is what she does — she comes back only when you’ve just started to walk away…when the part of you that loved her most has grown quiet enough to let something new begin.
you open your eyes and there she is. just her. small and stubborn and heartbreakingly soft in front of you.
and still — you know better.
“i can’t keep being your almost,” you whisper. “i can’t keep waiting for you to be proud of me in public.”
she looks like she’s about to cry. her mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
you don’t know what else to say.
and then suddenly, behind her — another voice. steady, but sharp with interruption.
“what’s going on?”
you turn around just as sana walks in. she stops when she sees karina. her posture stiffens, like she’s debating whether to walk right back out again.
her eyes flick to you, then back to her. she doesn’t smile. “am i interrupting something?”
but no one answers. not right away.
because you’re still caught between them: one who haunts and one who holds — and for a brief, suffocating moment, you don’t know which way to move.
the silence barely lasts a breath. barely long enough for you to decide because sana’s eyes don’t move from karina’s. there’s nothing timid about her now — none of the teasing charm she wore like perfume over dinner; her jaw is tight. when she steps forward, it’s with the kind of composure that makes your stomach twist.
“you don’t get to do this here,” sana firmly starts, voice low but steady. “not in some bathroom while your fucking boyfriend’s sipping wine two tables away.”
the other girl doesn’t answer immediately. she’s still breathing unevenly, still staring at you like you’re something slipping through her fingers and now she can’t quite figure out how you got this far without her.
she turns toward sana, her voice sharp. “this doesn’t involve you.”
“it does; the second you made her cry on my couch, the second you let her walk away thinking it was her fault. it absolutely involves me.”
your heart’s thudding against your ribs as you try to ground yourself in its coldness. you hate this. the closeness of it, the fluorescent lighting, the way their voices bounce off tile walls and make everything feel louder than it is.
“you think this is about you?” karina snaps. “you think you just get to show up again and erase everything we had?”
sana crosses her arms. “i’m not erasing anything. you did that all on your own.”
your eyes flick between them, your head ringing with the pressure of too many thoughts trying to speak at once.
karina’s lips are trembling now, her eyes red, her hands flexing uselessly by her sides. she looks like she’s holding something in — rage or regret, you can’t tell. she shakes her head, tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek like she’s holding something in.
“you think you’re so much better than me,” she mutters. “but you weren’t there.”
“no,” sana replies, stepping further into the room. “because she didn’t want me there. she wanted you. and what did you do? you left her waiting. you told her things you had no intention of following through with. and then you paraded your boyfriend around like she was the mistake.”
karina looks at you again. her voice is lower now. “you think she’s better for you?”
you swallow hard, refusing to answer. because the truth is, you don’t know.
sana doesn’t make you feel like you have to shrink to be loved, she doesn’t hide you nor weigh her affection with conditions…but she’s not who your heart pulled toward first.
and that’s the problem. maybe the worst thing about it all — that the heart doesn’t care if the hands it longs for have already dropped it.
“she sees me,” you manage, finally. “she doesn’t make me feel like i’m not enough.”
you can’t breathe.
next to you, karina says quietly: “i don’t know how to let you go.”
and it hits you harder than it should.
because that’s the one thing you’ve always known about her — she doesn’t say the truth until it’s already been buried under rubbles of silence.
“you should’ve thought of that before choosing your boyfriend,” sana snaps this time, stepping between you and karina now. “you don’t get to mourn her like you didn’t help break her.”
you take a shaky breath and force your voice to work. “can we just — ” you stop, then try again. “sana.”
her head turns to you immediately, eyes softening.
you don’t know what expression is on your face, but it makes her take a half-step toward you. “hey,” she murmurs, already shifting her posture, “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have —”
“can we go home?” you cut her off. “i don’t want dessert anymore.”
she nods without hesitation.
“of course.”
you turn toward the door, but not before catching karina’s expression. she looks stricken, as if you just took something from her that she never thought you would actually keep for yourself.
part of you wants to say something to soften it. tell her you’re not choosing sides, not really. you’re just choosing peace; but there’s nothing you could say that wouldn’t pull you back in.
so you walk out.
sana trails behind you silently.
your hand brushes hers once as you make your way through the dining room. she doesn’t try to hold it — doesn’t reach — but you feel the warmth of her beside you, steady and quiet and grounding.
» » After a humiliating wardrobe malfunction goes viral, movie star Karina becomes the target of ruthless media and online hate. But behind the scenes, an obsessed fan decides to protect her—by any means necessary. As stylists vanish, stalkers go missing, and hate commenters face harsh lawsuits, Karina begins to suspect that someone is watching over her. Someone dangerous.
» » movie star!Karina x stalker!protector!femreader + g!p fem!reader
» » genre: AU, psychological thriller, stalker fic and dark romance
» » warning(s): stalker and obsessive behavior, mentions of kidnapping, murder implied, mental instability, possessiveness, non-consensual protection, power imbalance & morally grey actions
Synopsis: A writer tries to distract the campus math genius with silly courting tactics—only to end up falling harder than planned. A rivals-to-lovers slow burn filled with banter, study sessions, and unexpected feelings.
Word Count: 1,980
Karina X Male Reader
Karina was the mathematician. Cold, brilliant, precise—she could solve equations in seconds and reduce the toughest calculus problems to nothing but child’s play.
You? You were the writer. Messy desk, messier thoughts, but never short on metaphors or big ideas. A different kind of smart—head in the clouds, pen always moving.
And the two of you? Constantly at odds, never quite rivals, never quite friends.
Competition was the language you shared.
She beat you in math—scored a perfect 30 while you came in second with a brutal 16. You smoked her in English, topping the charts while she fumbled a few literary terms. Back and forth, like a pendulum with pride at stake.
Even debates turned into battlegrounds.
“Love is not real. It’s a chemical response. Toxins in the brain, serotonin, oxytocin—basic biology,” she argued one afternoon in Philosophy Club, arms crossed, eyes burning.
“Then why do people say ‘I’d take a bullet for you’?” you countered, leaning forward with a grin. “You ever seen anyone say that for dopamine?”
She rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re fun when you’re losing.”
People said you two were a match made in heaven. You both strongly disagreed.
“She’s the type to marry a textbook,” you joked once.
“And he’s the type to write poetry about a sandwich,” she clapped back.
But the tension? It was there. Everyone could feel it in the library, where you’d casually pass by her table with your annotated Shakespeare, and she’d just so happen to drop her linear algebra book near your seat.
“Studying English, I see?” she said one day, eyeing your notes.
“Good for you,” you smirked. “Why don’t you study some math, genius?”
You tossed a heavy calculus book at her desk. She scoffed, then cracked a small, unguarded smile.
At lunch, the roast came in hot.
“Karina bombed you again, man,” your friend cackled. “She got a perfect on that calc test. You got, what? 16 out of 30?”
“I’m not a math genius,” you said coolly, sipping your milk carton like it was a glass of aged wine, “but I have a plan.”
“Oh no,” someone groaned. “Last time you had a plan, we nearly got banned from the robotics lab—”
“Shh. We don’t speak of that.”
“So what’s the plan?”
You leaned back in your chair, eyes locked on Karina across the room. She was quietly scribbling in a notebook, brows furrowed, hair tucked behind one ear. Effortless. Brilliant.
“I’ll court Karina.”
Deadpan. Not a trace of irony.
The table went silent.
“So she can get distracted from her studies,” you finished.
“…You’re insane.”
“Diabolical,” someone whispered, impressed.
“Y’all laughing now, but when I sabotage her GPA with love, don’t ask me for my English notes.”
As they started to leave, still chuckling, you watched Karina from across the room. She caught your gaze—and smirked.
She didn’t know your plan.
But something told you… she wouldn’t mind being distracted.
You knew she’d forget. She always did when she was too deep in her equations to care about anything else. So you quietly placed a fresh pack of pastel highlighters across from your seat at the library table, right where she usually sat—one of each color, arranged like a color-coded peace offering.
When Karina arrived, her usual presence stole the air from the room. Hair loosely tied, brows furrowed like she was already solving a problem in her head. She stopped when she noticed the pack.
“What’s this?”
She didn’t look at you, but her fingers had already opened the packaging.
“A gift. From a desperate academic rival who also may or may not be deeply infatuated with you.” You tried to sound smug, but it came out soft.
She picked up the lilac one, her favorite shade—whether she noticed you noticing or not, you weren’t sure. “Pastel? Not bad.” Then she added after a beat: “Still doesn’t make up for that essay you bombed last week.”
But you caught the upward curl of her lips.
Day 3: The Candy Bribe
Midday, before class, you sneaked over to her desk and dropped a tiny gift bag with obnoxiously cute decorations—little strawberries, hearts, and glittery tape. Inside? Her favorite candies, all unwrapped for convenience. And a sticky note:
“A little sugar to balance the bitterness of your Calculus superiority complex.”
—Your not-so-secret admirer.
She didn’t react in class. No glance, no smirk, nothing.
But the next day, you noticed one of those candies being unwrapped during lunch, and the sticky note stuck to the back of her phone.
She was laughing with her friends. But the moment her eyes caught yours, she bit down on the candy and looked away, quickly—but not before the smallest, traitorous blush hit her cheeks.
Day 6: The Math Joke
You folded the paper twice to make it look like a note from a passing era—middle school drama, passing secret crushes. You slipped it under her book in the library.
She stared at it for a moment before opening it.
“You must be the square root of -1… because you can’t be real.”
Silence. You looked up from your laptop, waiting.
She didn’t say anything. Just slid it back across the table like a rejection letter.
“You’re so lame.”
But later, you saw it tucked inside her calculus notebook, next to her graph sketches. Folded once more—carefully.
Day 8: The Study Playlist
You titled the playlist “For the best girl in Calculus (and the worst in Romance)” and sent it with no explanation.
She didn’t reply. Classic Karina.
But the next day, you caught her listening to it on her phone, mouthing the lyrics to a song you knew she’d love. It was soft, instrumental, wordless. The kind of music that made your heart ache quietly.
You didn’t say anything. But she did.
“Track 7 is mid. Replace it.”
She was still listening.
Day 10: The Slip-Up
She stood at the whiteboard, sketching out a solution as if it were choreography. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, marker gliding in precise movements. You sat there, forgetting your own notes, eyes trained on the way she furrowed her brows, how she bit her lip when she was unsure, how she’d blink twice when she was sure she nailed it.
“Are you even trying to study?” she asked, catching your gaze.
You blinked, unashamed.
“Yeah. I’m studying… the trajectory of my feelings for you. And right now it’s looking like exponential growth.”
She sighed—hard—and shook her head, but the smile she tried to hide pulled at her lips like gravity.
“You’re hopeless.”
“You like it.”
No answer. But she didn’t walk away.
It started off as a plan.
Distract Karina with affection, fluster her with relentless charm—enough to knock her off her academic pedestal for just a moment.
But now? You were the one fumbling your pen every time she tucked her hair behind her ear.
DAY: 15
You left a mini chocolate on her library desk with a sticky note:
“For brain fuel. Or just because you’re sweet.”
She didn’t say anything when she saw it. Just unwrapped it calmly, popped it into her mouth… and looked you dead in the eye as she chewed.
“Focus on your reading, loverboy.”
You swear your heart short-circuited.
Attempt #8:
You wrote her name in cursive on the back of your English notes. Absentmindedly.
Then boxed it in hearts.
Then she leaned over and saw it.
“You got a little obsession going on there, Shakespeare.”
“That’s not mine. I bought these notes secondhand.”
“Mm-hmm. You wrote the date—today’s date—right underneath it.”
You didn’t respond. You were too busy pretending to drink from your empty water bottle.
Attempt #9:
She dropped her pen and you bent down to pick it up, but your head hit the underside of the desk.
She giggled as you groaned.
“Distracted much?”
“Only by perfect girls who smell like lemon shampoo.”
“…You’re impossible.”
But when she sat back down, her cheeks were dusted pink. And when she resumed writing, she didn’t hide her smile this time.
Your plan was falling apart, piece by piece.
And Karina? She knew.
She just kept playing along—like a cat swatting at string—waiting to see when you’d admit that maybe she wasn’t the one being distracted anymore.
Some days passed, like scattered pages from a diary filled with quiet glances and shared secrets.
Exams came and went—Karina still crushed the math ones, and you still swept the literature scores. But now, when one of you came out of a classroom, the other was always there waiting. Sometimes with snacks, sometimes with teasing, always with a grin.
During the school festival, you helped at the haunted house booth while Karina worked the math club’s impossible quiz stall. Students passed by giggling at the odd pairing of the two smartest yet most chaotic duo on campus.
“Come try the quiz and win a prize!” she called out.
You walked over with your arms crossed, raising a brow.
“What do I get if I score perfect?”
“My heart’s already taken, sorry.” she winked.
“I was gonna ask for your last taiyaki.”
“Then solve this.” She held out a paper.
You blinked.
“That’s calculus.”
“Exactly. Good luck.”
You didn’t get the taiyaki. She fed it to you anyway.
Late at night, you both stayed behind in the library once—her tutoring you through your math finals, your legs bumping beneath the table, her glasses slightly sliding down her nose.
She caught you staring.
“Focus, writer boy.”
“Can’t. You’re a distraction.”
She nudged your foot gently under the table.
And then there were moments in between—the walks to class, the sneaky texts during lectures, the way she’d tug at your sleeve when she wanted your attention.
You weren’t competing anymore.
You were just… falling. Together.
It happened on a rainy Wednesday after school. The hallways were mostly empty except for the occasional echo of shoes on tile. You found Karina near the lockers, tapping her calculator like it owed her money.
You had no gifts this time. No new pens, no chocolates, no sticky notes with your bad jokes.
Just a heart that wouldn’t stop thudding.
“Hey.”
She looked up. “No offerings today, Romeo?”
You smiled, but it was different this time—less smug, more honest. You stepped closer.
“I like you, Karina. Not for a plan or a distraction or any of that dumb stuff.”
“I just like you. You’re smart, you’re stubborn, and somehow you still put up with me. That has to mean something.”
She was quiet for a second. Then:
“You’re stupid.”
But she stepped forward. She looked up at you. And before your heart could fully panic, she kissed you—soft and fast, like a secret.
“But I like you too, stupid.”
The next day in class, you sat next to her like usual. Except this time, her arm brushed yours on purpose. And during group work, she took your pen, used it, and didn’t give it back.
Someone from your table noticed.
“Wait… are you two…?”
You and Karina looked at each other.
She smiled, shrugged.
“Yeah. We are.”
Chaos ensued.
From the back of the room, your friend gasped like it was a plot twist in a drama. “THE PLAN ACTUALLY WORKED?”
Karina rolled her eyes.
“It didn’t. He got distracted instead.”
You buried your face in your hands while everyone erupted in teasing cheers and mock applause.
But when her hand found yours under the table and squeezed it gently, you didn’t care.
synopsis: after a rare drunken night, y/n wakes up in bed next to the most untouchable girl at yonsei: karina. she’s immediately thrown into a mess she never wanted, torn between her own moral compass and the undeniable pull of something she doesn’t understand. some lines, once crossed, can never be undone.
w/c: 10k+
warnings: heavy cheating, implied sex, alcohol, smoking, just normal uni stuff, swearingggg, slow burn
a/n: this was meant to be the ending…but i’m not ready for the end of it just yet, so here’s more slowburn
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the living room of your dorm is cramped, warm and smells faintly of microwave popcorn and fabric softener. there is half-folded laundry and mismatched mugs in every corner, but it feels safe in the kind of way that only came with familiarity.
twilight flickers on the television screen, casting a bluish tint across the cushions and scattered legs of the half-circle made up of your friends.
giselle is curled up upside down in the armchair with a packet of chips resting precariously on her stomach, ryujin and yujin are squashed together on the floor with ningning leaning against their shoulders and minjeong sits cross-legged closest to the TV, muttering under her breath every time edward speaks.
meanwhile, jimin is nestled against you on the couch, her legs draped over yours, her body soft and her laugh muffled against your neck. she smells like green tea and the faintest trace of your shampoo — she’s been using your shower more often lately, slipping in without asking, like it’s always been hers.
the lines have blurred so much that you’re not even sure what they’re calling this anymore. you never talked about it…but it’s somewhat official.
maybe that’s the point.
“you know,” giselle says through a mouthful of chips, pointing at the screen, “if a guy said half this shit to me, i’d report him to campus security.”
minjeong throws a cushion at her. “shut up, he’s hot.”
“so what?” ryujin snorts, leaning back on her elbows. “so is lucifer on lucifer; doesn’t mean i want him watching me sleep.”
ningning, eyes wide and very serious, turns to you. “but like, if a vampire obsessed over me —”
“ning, don’t start with this shit,” jimin groans, her voice still muffled against your shoulder, her fingers absently tracing a circle into the side of your thigh.
yunjin chimes in. “nah but like, you’d want to know right? if someone was spiritually bound to you for eternity? or imprinted himself?”
“absolutely not,” you mutter, taking a sip from your glass of watered-down cola. “that sounds like a logistical nightmare.”
“okay, well now i need to know who you think would imprint on you,” giselle eyes you, already grinning.
you raise an eyebrow. “me?”
jimin looks up at you. “you’d attract someone chaotic.”
“like who?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.
“like…a rosalie. high-maintenance. super intense. probably wants to kill you half the time,” she smiles, like she didn’t just describe someone familiar.
“you are the rosalie,” ningning points out and everyone nods a little too quickly.
“i am not!” she whines, feigning offence as she puts a hand over her chest.
it’s so easy to forget that none of this is simple…until the laughter dies down and jimin’s phone buzzes against your leg.
you feel her shift, untangle herself slightly to reach for it and the second her screen lights up, her entire posture changes.
it’s barely perceptible, but it’s there; the drop in her shoulders, the pause in her breathing. she doesn’t say anything, just lifts the phone and stands up without looking at you.
the name glows on the screen long enough for giselle to read it aloud, half-amused. “oh, it’s the jaewook.”
that’s when everything goes quiet.
she answers with a soft, bright voice. “hey,” she greets, her tone too light, too easy. “yeah…no, i’m just hanging out with the girls tonight. hmmm. no, i’m staying in,” she paces the room slowly, her back turned now, voice lowering slightly.
“i know. next weekend, okay? promise,” her tone shifts again, a gentleness slipping in you’ve never heard when she speaks to you. “you too… goodnight.”
when she hangs up, she doesn’t look at you right away; just slides the phone back into her pocket and flops down onto the couch, next to you this time, not on you.
“i hate lying to him,” she admits softly, more to the room than to anyone specific.
nobody responds.
giselle coughs into her hand and refocuses on the TV, ningning crosses her arms, ryujin mouths a dramatic yikes to minjeong and yunjin pretends to not notice.
but you sit there, staring at the flickering screen and feeling everything inside you grow quieter.
it’s a familiar ache now. not new, not sharp…but dull, constant, the kind that settles behind your ribs and lives there.
jaewook always gets the polished version of her.
the girlfriend one.
he gets the smiles with purpose and the quiet reassurances, the soft-spoken goodnights and the planned weekends. you get the late-night phone calls and the rushed kisses outside your dorm. the moments that aren’t meant to last.
the pieces.
he gets the whole; you get the cracks.
her fingers slide into yours gently, curling into your palm like she’s checking you’re still there. when she finally turns to look at you, her eyes soften.
“you okay?” she asks, voice lower now, like it’s just the two of you in the room. her thumb strokes a slow circle against the back of your hand.
“perfect,” you lie.
because you don’t want to ask what the hell you two are anymore. you already know the answer and it’ll feel worse hearing her say it out loud.
she leans her head back against your shoulder again like she didn’t just call her boyfriend sweet and soft and good, as if she didn’t just say i hate lying to him while she kept touching you like you were the one that mattered.
and maybe this is all it’ll ever be — this in-between place, where her hand fits in yours and she smells like your shampoo and twilight plays in the background like a joke everyone’s pretending to take seriously.
maybe this is what she meant by not knowing how to stop.
you’re not sure if you know how either.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the classroom is already cold when jimin pulls you inside, her hand still wrapped around yours like she’s afraid you’ll change your mind if she lets go.
she doesn’t say anything at first. just looks around the empty room with a little smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, like she can’t believe she’s getting away with this. the door clicks shut behind you, muting the hallway noise, and the silence that follows is the kind you could get drunk on.
you’ve been here before — same classroom, same time of night, same look in her eyes — but every time still makes your chest ache in a new way.
“ten minutes,” she begins, half-laughing as she tugs you gently by the front of your jacket, guiding you toward the desk at the front. “i swear.”
you raise an eyebrow, stepping back until your hips hit the edge of the desk. “you always say that.”
“and yet,” she murmurs, eyes trailing over your face. “you always show up.”
it’s not meant to be romantic. not really. but it lands that way; maybe everything jimin says lands that way now — too soft, too heavy, too close to something you’ve tried not to name.
when she leans in, her hands slide into the sides of your jacket, palms warm against your waist. her mouth finds yours like it’s second nature, as if there’s nothing in the world she trusts more than kissing you in the dark.
you kiss her back without thinking, your fingers already threading into her hoodie, pulling her close until her body settles between your legs.
there’s nothing rushed about it. no desperation. just warmth and familiarity and the way her lips part against yours like she’s memorised you. you tilt your head slightly, deepening the kiss, and she exhales into your mouth like she’s been holding her breath all day.
it’s a dangerous kind of peace, this.
the kind that makes you forget.
you feel her fingers skim beneath your shirt, not far, just enough to find skin. they settle there, unmoving. grounding.
her mouth pulls away just enough for her to speak against your jaw. “i like you so much it’s stupid.”
your eyes shut for a second. her words aren’t new. she’s said them before, usually in a whisper, after pulling away from a kiss she didn’t want to end —but they still catch you off guard. every time.
you feel like you should say something smart, something reassuring, but all that comes out is, “then be stupid with me.”
she laughs into your skin and you know she’s smiling even before she pulls back enough to look at you. her face is close…close enough that you can count every freckle, every slow blink of her lashes. the softness in her expression disarms you.
there are moments with her, quiet ones like this, where it almost feels like nothing’s wrong. like jaewook doesn’t exist. or the lying doesn’t leave a film over your skin that you can’t wash off.
this is one of those moments.
when she kisses you again, it’s slower. her thumb brushes beneath your jaw, tilting your chin up just slightly, like she wants to kiss you properly.
she does.
eventually, she pulls back, forehead resting against yours, her breath still a little uneven. “i have to go home before ningning loses it over me missing dinner,” she murmurs, eyes closed.
“and i was meant to be at the library already.”
“you’re such a good student, baby.”
you both stay there for another minute. maybe two. you’re not sure — time feels unreliable when her hands are still touching you like that.
then, softly, like she’s afraid to sound too eager, she asks, “you’re coming to watch conclave with me, right?”
you blink, a little surprised she remembered. “the rooftop screening?”
“friday night.” she leans back enough to look at you properly. “you said you wanted to watch it.”
“i do,” you say, smiling. “you remembered?”
she presses a kiss to the side of your neck in response, soft and barely there. “of course i did.”
you nod, because of course you’ll go. even if it breaks you. even if it means pretending again.
“promise you’ll come?”
“promise.”
“missing you already,” she pouts.
you chuckle, feeling blood rushing to your cheeks. “missing you too.”
when she finally steps back, you feel the loss of her immediately. your body misses her before your mind can catch up.
jimin peeks out the door, checking the hallway. when she turns back, her expression has shifted slightly — soft still, but more alert.
it’s back to reality now. back to the game you’re both pretending not to play.
“you go first,” she says. “i’ll wait a minute.”
you nod before giving her cheek a kiss and slip out into the hall, the cool air biting against the back of your neck. when you glance back, she’s still standing there in the doorway, watching.
you don’t wave. she doesn’t smile.
then you both turn, disappearing in opposite directions, like you hadn’t just kissed each other like people in love even though the storm is already building in the distance.
the smell of whiteboard marker still clings faintly to your sleeve. and her perfume.
your chest is warm and unsettled as you push open the glass doors to the law library. it’s quiet inside, the usual late-night buzz replaced by a kind of clinical stillness. fluorescent lights hum overhead, too bright, and your footsteps echo faintly across the carpeted floor.
you spot her instantly — irene, in her usual seat beneath the far lamp, surrounded by perfectly tabbed casebooks and a colour-coded outline that looks more like art than notes.
your stomach tightens.
for a second, you consider walking past her. not because you don’t want to talk, but because you know she’ll see it on you.
jimin’s touch still lingers at the corner of your mouth. your heart’s still pounding from whatever the hell this is becoming.
fuck.
but you don’t walk past. instead, you approach slowly and slide into the chair across from her, trying to act like nothing’s changed.
“you’re here late,” you offer, voice light even though it falters.
irene doesn’t look up. “so are you.”
you nod, fingers drumming against the side of your laptop. “thought i’d finally get around to reviewing the restitution cases from last week…the reading was a nightmare.”
she turns a page, slow and precise, like she hasn’t heard a word you’ve said.
you shift, trying again. “did you see professor kim’s notes on the precedent change? i swear they’re trying to trip us up on the final.”
nothing. not even a hum of agreement.
finally, she lifts her gaze, and when she does, it’s like a pin has dropped between you. she doesn’t smile. she just looks at you — cool and composed, but not indifferent.
there’s something else behind her eyes, something that makes your throat go dry.
“you know you’ve been showing up,” she begins calmly. “but you haven’t really been here.”
you blink, startled by how fast the conversation veers off course. “what?”
irene leans back in her chair, her hands folding neatly over her book. “i’ve been sitting across from you for three weeks now and it’s like i’m studying alone. your body’s here but that’s about it.”
your breath falters. she’s not wrong. you’ve been going through the motions — showing up for your routines, keeping your notes tidy, pretending nothing’s changed.
but your thoughts are always somewhere else. always with her.
you shrug, trying to play it down. “just…a lot going on lately.”
she tilts her head slightly. “and i want you to be honest with me because right now, you’re lying.
the words sting, more because of the way she says them — not angry, not accusing.
just tired.
you glance down at your hands. “i’m not —”
“you are,” she cuts in. “and i’m not interested in whatever version of the truth you’ve been feeding yourself either.”
a beat of silence passes. you don’t want to say it. you know saying it out loud makes it real.
“so who is it?” she asks, voice quiet but unwavering.
you look up at her, at the way she’s watching you like she already knows the answer, and she does.
of course she does — she’s always been sharp. she never asks a question she doesn’t already know the answer to.
you inhale slowly and the admission spills out because there’s no use hiding anymore.
“karina.”
she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink. but something shifts in the air between you, subtle but undeniable.
“does jaewook know?”
you shake your head and shame coils tightly in your chest. “no.”
she sighs, a short breath through her nose.
“so what the fuck are you doing, then?”
you wish you had a better answer. something that sounded less pathetic and less selfish. “i didn’t plan for it to happen.”
her lips press into a thin line. “but you’re still letting it.”
you meet her eyes, and for the first time, it’s hard to hold her gaze.
“because it’s her,” you eventually reply.
the words hang heavy between you, weighted with everything you can’t explain.
she looks at you for a long moment, and then says, quietly, “you don’t even look happy.”
your throat tightens.
“you’ve been — what? getting crumbs of her affection in empty classrooms and quiet corners while she holds someone else’s hand in public?” her voice doesn’t rise, but it cuts. “and you’re okay with that?”
you don’t answer.
“i just thought,” she says finally, standing, gathering her notes with a kind of calm that feels colder than any yelling ever could, “you’d know when something was beneath you.”
and this time, she doesn’t wait for a response. she leaves her lamp on, her chair tucked in, her silence louder than anything she could’ve said.
and you sit there, still warm from jimin’s kiss, but colder than you’ve felt in weeks.
you stare down at your laptop for a minute, blinking at the same sentence in your reading, but nothing registers.
the case summaries feel like static, your notes untouched, the room colder now somehow; too empty. you close the lid gently, quietly, like that’ll soften the blow of how done you are. the chair squeaks as you stand and it echoes too loudly in the silence.
the walk back to your dorm is slow. too quiet. the kind of stillness that presses into your shoulders and makes your steps heavier than they should be. you keep your hands buried in your hoodie pocket and try to will the words away — you don’t even look happy, you used to know when something was beneath you — but they won’t leave.
they feel etched into the back of your ribs.
by the time you unlock your door, your body feels like it’s humming with something you don’t know how to name.
guilt, maybe. or grief. or both.
the house is still. that particular stillness only found when everyone else is already asleep. ryujin’s room is dark. yunjin’s door is cracked open just enough to see the blue glow of her screen. someone’s laundry machine hums behind a closed door down the hall.
otherwise, it’s just you.
your bag hits the floor with more force than you mean it to. you don’t bother changing out of your hoodie. you just crawl under the blanket, shoes off, phone already in your hand like it’s muscle memory.
the weight of irene’s voice hasn’t lifted. it’s sitting squarely in your chest now.
you don’t even look happy.
and the thing that hurts the most is that you know she’s right.
you smell like jimin. still. her shampoo clings to your collar, your lips still sting from the way she kissed you in the empty classroom, soft and sure, as if none of this was going to catch up with you. like she could pretend the future didn’t exist as long as you stayed in the dark.
you want to hold onto that softness. you want that kiss to be the only thing you remember from tonight, but the guilt creeps in before you can stop it.
it always does.
your thumb hovers over her name for longer than you’d like to admit. you almost put the phone down. almost try to sleep it off but the truth is already starting to rot in your chest, and it’s not something you can carry on your own tonight.
you press call. it only rings twice.
her voice is sleepy when she answers, warm and already curling around the edges of your name. “hey, you.”
you close your eyes for a second, just listening. she sounds happy. you almost hang up.
“did i wake you?” your voice is quieter than usual.
“hmm…just a little,” she murmurs, still smiling. “but it’s fine. worth it.”
you roll onto your side, press the phone tighter to your ear, like it might make her feel closer. “i…i didn’t call just to say goodnight.”
her smile fades. you can hear it, the change in her breath. “what’s wrong?”
you pause. let your eyes fall shut again. the words aren’t hard to find, but they’re hard to say. “i saw irene tonight. at the library.”
the other end of the line stills. there’s something careful in the way she exhales. “did she say something?”
you nod before realising she can’t see you. “yeah, she said i’ve been showing up, but not really showing up. that i’ve been somewhere else lately.”
a beat.
“she’s not wrong,” jimin replies gently. and it doesn’t feel like a stab. it feels like a mirror.
you’re quiet for a moment. then: “she asked who it was.”
you don’t need to say it. she already knows. but you do anyway. “i told her it was you…because if she had to ask that question, it means she already knows.”
the line goes still again. and this silence feels heavier like she’s holding her breath on the other end, waiting for what comes next.
you press your hand to your forehead. “she didn’t yell. she didn’t even look angry. she just…looked at me like she expected more.”
her voice breaks a little when it finally comes. “i never wanted to make you feel ashamed.”
“i’m not ashamed,” you say too fast, too sharp. then softer, as your voice steadies. “it’s not shame. it’s just…the truth.”
and it is.
the kind that stares you down in a law library while someone who’s always known better reminds you of the version of yourself you’ve been slipping away from.
you can hear her shift in bed. the rustle of sheets and the soft sigh that says she’s thinking of what to say.
“is she going to tell anyone?”
you exhale, shaking your head. “no — irene’s not like that, she wouldn’t hurt me like that. even if she doesn’t get it.”
there’s a breath of relief on the other end. not loud; just a soft exhale. “okay, thank you. for trusting me with that.”
“it’s not about trust,” you whisper. “i just couldn’t keep it in.”
neither of you speak for a while. the silence settles into something you’ve both learned how to sit in.
“what did you say back?” she asks eventually.
you stare at the ceiling, at the thin crack running across the plaster like a fault line. “nothing. i just sat there and let her be disappointed with me.”
there’s a sharp breath on her end. then silence.
when jimin speaks again, her voice is soft in a way that’s almost painful. “i wish this were easier.”
you nod, not because you agree, but because it’s the only thing left to say. “me too.”
there’s another pause. and then, even quieter: “are you okay?”
you shake your head, then stop yourself. “no, but i will be…i just think…i think this might ruin my friendship with her.”
you hear the shift in her voice when she answers. “do you want me to stay on the phone until you fall asleep?”
that offer — so small, so kind — almost undoes you.
“no,” you answer, even though the thought of her voice guiding you into sleep feels like the only thing that could make this night easier. “i’ll be fine.”
there’s a pause. then her voice, soft and close: “i’ll see you friday still?”
you hesitate because you’re scared of what it’s starting to mean — that you’re already saying yes to things that feel like something more.
“yeah,” you respond. “i’ll see you.”
“goodnight, my y/n.”
you let the silence sit for a second before answering. “goodnight, baby.”
you don’t move for a long time after the call ends. not because you’re waiting for something to feel different — but because it already does.
and you’re not sure if that’s good or dangerous. maybe it’s both.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the dorm is loud again. not in the party sense —not yet — but in the way the living room fills with the kind of unfiltered, too-much-energy chaos that always comes when everyone finally has nothing due the next day.
the lights are too bright and there’s music playing from two different phones and it’s driving you insane.
the coffee table is a disaster zone of half-finished takeaway, open textbooks and giselle’s hair straightener for some reason.
you’re curled into the end of the couch, legs tucked up under you, a mug of something lukewarm in your hands while yunjin and ryujin sit cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by empty cans and dangerous ideas.
“we need another party,” she declares, waving the speaker around for emphasis. “something unhinged and god will frown upon.”
“god’s already frowning,” yunjin points out from the floor, one leg crossed over the other as she paints her nails neon green. “you kissed that econ major with the mullet and y/n slept with someone who has a boyfriend.”
“that was charity work,” ryujin mutters.
your eyebrows crease. “what am i copping bullets for?”
giselle’s sprawled on the arm of the couch, sipping from a beer she didn’t ask permission to open and she’s wearing one of your hoodies again; you stopped arguing about it two months ago.
“we should do something more curated next time,” she says, lifting the bottle to her lips. “like an invite-only disaster. exclusive but embarrassing.”
you’re only half-listening, slumped back against the couch with your head tilted toward the ceiling. everything smells like beer and popcorn.
and you’re tired in the way that makes you restless.
“maybe y/n can end up in bed with sana this time,” giselle adds, not looking at you. “make it more complicated.”
you blink. “okay, first of all, that was yonks ago and it wasn’t even —”
“a real thing,” she finishes, grinning. “sure. she just happened to sleep in your bed for yonks.”
“we were drunk —”
“for yonks?”
you groan. “she’s pretty, alright? i didn’t say i wanted her.”
and that’s exactly when the front door opens.
you don’t even have to look. the way the room quiets is enough. it’s not silent — not dramatic. just a soft shift like someone nudged the volume dial.
jimin walks in wearing a red leather jacket and a calm expression that doesn’t match the fact that every girl in this room knows exactly who she is. her hair’s tied up in a clip, her cheeks slightly pink from the cold. she’s holding a paper bag with what looks like drinks or snacks poking out the top.
her eyes flick briefly to you; you can’t read them.
“hey,” she says, to the room. casual. like she didn’t just walk in on a sentence about a girl you used to sleep with.
“hey baby cakes,” ryujin says automatically, biting back a grin.
“we’re just having a little pregame slander session,” yunjin offers, as if that makes it better.
“mm,” jimin hums, setting the bag down on the bench. “should i leave and come back so you can finish?”
giselle laughs. “nah, you got here just in time. we were just talking about your girl’s greatest hits.”
you glare at her. “stop that.”
“or what?” she asks sweetly.
jimin doesn’t say anything. she just crosses the room, still composed and brushes a hand across your shoulder as she passes. let’s go.
“see you guys later,” she hums with a wave of her hand.
“have fun kids!”
you laugh and shake your head as you’re closing the door. “we will, mum.”
it’s immediately silent as soon as you get into the car — in the way where everything feels too loud even when nothing’s being said.
jimin keeps both hands on the wheel. her eyes don’t leave the road, the music is low enough that it barely exists. and you’re hyperaware of the space between your bodies, the way she hasn’t looked at you once since the door shut behind you both.
you try to ignore the weight in your stomach, pretend you didn’t see the shift in her eyes when giselle mentioned sana. you had forgotten, for a moment, that jealousy looks different on her — it’s not sharp, it’s subtle and it sits in her silence.
“you okay?” you ask quietly, eyes still on the window.
she hums, something noncommittal. “why wouldn’t i be?”
you glance over, her grip on the wheel is too tight. “you know you heard that out of context.”
she doesn’t reply. just blinks slowly, tapping her thumb against the steering wheel once. “did i?”
you let out a sigh, shifting in your seat to face her more directly. “she was teasing. i wasn’t serious.”
her voice is quiet when she answers, so quiet you almost miss it. “it’s not her i’m worried about.”
you swallow, lips parting, but nothing comes out.
because you know what she means. and it isn’t about sana. it’s about the fact that you didn’t even notice you were talking like you weren’t already hers — as if the lines still had space to blur.
you want to tell her that there’s no one else. not even close but all you can manage is reach for her hand when she stops at a red light.
she doesn’t look at you. doesn’t have to. but her hand squeezes yours seconds later, resting palm-up as you lace your fingers with hers.
when you pull up to the venue, you half-expected the rooftop to be full. the movie was on the uni events calendar, you even saw someone flyering for it earlier in the week but when you step out of the car and take the elevator up, there’s no crowd.
just string lights, a huge screen already set up against the wall, blankets, cushions, two chairs and a cooler.
no one else.
you turn to her slowly. “did you — ?”
“yeah,” she answers, shoving her hands in her pockets. “i booked it.”
you stare. “you booked the whole rooftop?”
she shrugs like she just picked up extra snacks. “didn’t want to share — want to be able to hold your hand without a care.”
the wind catches the edge of the blanket and you step forward to fix it, mostly because you don’t know what to do with your face. your chest is doing something unfamiliar. aching in a way that feels good and dangerous all at once.
“you’re insane,” you say quietly.
“probably,” she replies. “but it worked.”
you sit beside her, shoulder to shoulder, knees brushing. she opens the cooler and pulls out two cans of lemonade, handing one to you. the screen flickers to life as conclave begins, the opening shot washed in warm tones, the soundtrack soft and swelling.
she doesn’t take your hand right away but she leans against you slowly, like she’s giving you time to lean back.
you do.
when she finally laces her fingers through yours, it’s with purpose like she wants you to know she’s choosing you, here, where no one can see.
and god — you want to believe it’s enough.
for now, it is. the stars above are faint and her shoulder is pressed into yours, and the film plays on, but you don’t watch most of it. not really.
you just sit there, trying not to fall harder.
and failing.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
another afternoon at the shop drags in a way you should’ve expected.
there’s something about autumn light filtering through dusty windows that makes everything feel slower than it is. the streets outside are quiet, a low hum of traffic and wind and the inside of the store smells faintly like old denim and the lavender sachets taehyung insists on hiding between racks of flannel.
you’re half-leaning against the counter, pretending to care about a shipment of scarves that came in knotted and half-tagged, when the door jingles and he walks in — your boss, grinning like he hasn’t aged a day since you met him, hands shoved into the pockets of his oversized coat.
“you look like you’re having a thrilling afternoon,” he says, eyeing the scarf pile.
“i’ve entered a level of boredom that could qualify as spiritual,” you deadpan, barely glancing up. “what brings you here? more ironic corduroy?”
“nah,” he shrugs. “i’m heading to the yonsei game. figured i’d offer a ride to my favourite tragic law student, in case she wanted to experience school spirit and mild emotional damage.”
you laugh, because that’s always been the thing about him — he doesn’t need context to be kind. but you hesitate.
you know jimin will be there.
you also know she won’t expect you to be.
“come on, close up shop,” he demands, already sensing your pause. “you can sit next to me and make fun of rich boys trying to kick a ball straight.”
you exhale slowly. “do i get snacks?”
“i’ll buy you the shitty overpriced popcorn or if you want, a generous bonus for this month’s pay.”
“i don’t want popcorn and i’d rather take the bonus.”
he grins. “deal.”
a few minutes later, taehyung’s parked outside when you lock the doors out the store, leaning against the bonnet of his car like he’s in a coming-of-age film and sipping his iced americano.
“took you long enough,” he teases, waving casually when he sees you push the door open with your tote bag slung over your shoulder.
you scoff, tossing your bag into the footwell as you slide in. the car smells like coffee and mint gum and something vaguely like cedarwood. probably another cologne he refuses to admit he bought from a petrol station — he’s a bit odd like that.
he pulls away from the curb smoothly, music low. something jazzy he probably pretends not to like when jungkook’s in the car.
the late afternoon light cuts across the dash. you slump against the passenger seat, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, watching the blur of trees and brick buildings pass by.
it’s easy like this — being around him.
he doesn’t make you perform, doesn’t ask for versions of you. he just drives, one hand on the wheel, occasionally tapping along to the beat like the city is background noise and not something you’re supposed to be a part of.
“i still can’t believe you said yes,” he speaks eventually, shooting you a sidelong glance. “i thought you were morally opposed to school spirit.”
“i am,” you mutter. “but i was morally opposed to scarf sorting today too. i don’t even know why you order the most random shit.”
he chuckles, the sound low and rough from too many late nights out and not enough water. “and here i thought you were doing it for the love of the sport.”
“please,” you snort. “i don’t even know what position jaewook plays.”
“goalkeeper,” he says immediately. “i don’t know, he’s a bit of a versatile player.”
you turn your head to look at him. “how is that even possible?”
“it’s jaewook,” he shrugs. “he keeps the coach’s job afloat.”
you huff a quiet laugh. silence settles again, comfortable. you don’t mean to go quiet, but you do.
then: “jennie’s new campaign dropped this morning.”
you glance over. “yeah?”
“yeah,” he says, smiling faintly. “she looks…i don’t know. happy.”
you nod, understanding what he means without needing him to say it.
jennie…is ready for the world and he isn’t. she was always too big for him, but he loved her anyway.
it’s a quiet ache — the kind that doesn’t ask to be fixed.
“have you talked?”
“yeah, she’s just stressed about all of it,” he opens up. “we’re in that weird stage where we check in but don’t say anything real…like i know i’m going to lose her at some point.”
“that’s still something.”
“yeah,” he pauses. “she asked if you were still single — think she might have a friend for you.”
you shake your head. “what? not this again.”
he laughs. “i told her you’re in a long-term relationship with romantic dysfunction.”
you shove his arm lightly. “fuck off.”
“seriously though,” he continues, more gently now. “you ever gonna let anyone love you properly?”
you stare out the window, lips pressing into a line.
he doesn’t push. just changes the song.
the closer you get to the stadium, the more your chest feels like it’s filling with water. taehyung’s humming to the radio now, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel like he has nowhere better to be — and you’re grateful for that.
grateful that he doesn’t ask why you’re chewing your sleeve, or why your knee keeps bouncing.
because he doesn’t know yet, but that won’t last long.
the traffic thickens near the stadium. students are already crowding the crosswalks in team scarves and blue hoodies, waving plastic clappers and half-eaten fries.
he pulls into a side street and finds a spot almost too perfectly. he’s smug about it. you roll your eyes.
“we’re not sitting near the front, are we?” you ask, dragging your feet as you follow him down the street toward the gates.
“nah,” he says. “i’ve got people seats.”
“meaning?”
“meaning slightly above the vomit line but below the rich kid tier.”
“perfect.”
everything smells like fried food and deodorant and overexcited nerves as you step in. you pass a group of lit students chanting something incoherent, another crew in matching body paint doing a tiktok dance and at least four couples wearing matching jerseys.
you feel underdressed and overwhelmed.
taehyung nudges your shoulder, pointing toward the stairs. “up here.”
you trail behind him up into the stands, where he stops just above the mid-tier seats and gestures to two open spots wedged between a girl in body glitter and a guy in a varsity jacket who’s already half-lost his voice.
“this work?” he asks, but he’s already sitting.
you nod, settling in beside him. it’s loud. you can smell popcorn and cheap beer and the last notes of summer sweat clinging to autumn clothes.
“tae?” the guy beside him turns. “you coming to jake’s after?”
“if by jake’s you mean the place with the sticky floors and illegal tequila, absolutely not,” taehyung grins.
the guy laughs. “classic — still coming to the alumni mixer though?”
“only if you promise not to cry during the speech again.”
“fuck off,” the guy answers and turns back around, but he’s smiling.
taehyung leans toward you slightly, his voice lower. “i think i was in a situationship with half this stadium at one point.”
you huff a breath through your nose. “do they know that?”
“probably not.”
a few minutes later, the game starts.
and that’s when it happens; when you see her.
jimin’s sitting near the centre of the girlfriend section — just elevated enough to be seen, but not front-row enough to seem performative. her scarf’s wrapped neatly, cheeks flushed from the cold. she’s surrounded by three other girls, one of them with a little flag painted on her cheek.
they look like they’ve been here before. like they belong.
she’s smiling. not forced or staged. just…smiling. soft and warm and open in the way she rarely is when it’s just you and her in a dark room. she leans forward as jaewook runs onto the field. claps. says something to the girl next to her that makes them both laugh.
your stomach pulls tight.
there’s no hesitation in her. no second-guessing. no guilt.
this is who she is in public. the girlfriend, the trophy…the right choice.
your hands curl inside your sleeves. the noise of the stadium sharpens around the edges, crowding out your thoughts. someone in front of you chants yon-sei, yon-sei, and it catches like static under your skin.
taehyung notices. of course he does.
he doesn’t say anything. just passes you his drink. it tastes like watered-down coke and lemon and you take it anyway.
the game blurs in parts. there are close calls, a few near misses. someone behind you screams until their voice cracks.
when jaewook blocks a goal, the crowd erupts, and jimin stands with the others, scarf swinging, hands clapping high above her head.
you watch her. not the game.
you watch her be who she is when she doesn’t think you’re looking.
and it hurts.
it hurts in that quiet way that doesn’t ask for attention; just settles in your chest and stays.
“yonsei by four,” the glitter girl says beside you, tapping something into her phone. “i swear, jaewook’s on fire this season.”
“he’s been training outside team hours,” the varsity jacket guy adds. “karina’s been helping him with rehab shit too. they’re, like, golden couple material.”
you blink, hadn’t even realised you were still listening.
taehyung shifts slightly, body angling toward you. “you want to go?”
you shake your head. “no. i just…”
“i know.”
he doesn’t offer a solution, but stays next to you, his knee brushing yours; a steady weight beside the ache in your chest.
the game ends in a win. of course it does.
yonsei explodes and chants fill the air. someone tosses a streamer across the aisle and it lands in your lap. the announcer calls jaewook’s name and the crowd roars.
you and taehyung don’t move right away.
the stadium shifts around you. people climbing over benches, taking photos, calling out to friends. invitations for parties float past your ears like confetti — we’re heading to jake’s! drinks at theo’s! rooftop afterparty!
a girl with a camcorder stops you and taehyung on the way down the stairs. “you guys coming to the quad after? there’s a bonfire and they’re doing shots every time someone says ‘mvp.’”
he smiles politely. “tempting, but we’re old.”
“you’re twenty-nine.”
“ancient.”
she laughs, then disappear into the crowd.
outside, the cold air bites a little harder. students stream past in packs, buzzing with leftover adrenaline. music’s already blaring from a speaker someone dragged onto the footpath. you walk slowly and taehyung doesn’t rush.
and then…
you see her.
jimin, just ahead.
she’s with jaewook. he has his arm around her shoulders, laughing at something someone said. she’s wearing his jacket now. you can see the yonsei logo printed on the sleeve, oversized and unmistakable.
she sees you at the same time.
and your eyes meet.
for a moment, everything goes quiet.
then you nod. small. almost imperceptible.
she opens her mouth — like she might say something, but doesn’t.
you look away first and walk the rest of the way to the car in silence, the sound of cheering still echoing in the distance.
the inside of the car feels warmer than it should. not just from the heater — which taehyung fiddles with half-heartedly — but from the silence that stretches between you like a weight neither of you has named yet.
your seatbelt clicks into place. he starts the engine. there’s a beat of static before the speakers kick in, playing something soft and slow and forgettable.
you stare out the window as the lights of campus blur past. students spilling onto sidewalks, still high off the win, still wrapped in scarves and joy and each other. you watch them move in packs, voices bouncing off the brick walls of the buildings you’ve passed a thousand times. you used to feel part of this place…now you’re not sure what you are.
taehyung doesn’t speak for the first few minutes.
he doesn’t need to.
he’s always been good at letting things breathe.
but then, quietly, without turning down the music or clearing his throat or dressing it up in anything polite, he says: “how long?”
your breath stops. “what?”
his voice doesn’t change. just stays steady, like he’s been waiting for you to catch up. “you and karina.”
you inhale through your nose. let your eyes shut for a second.
he doesn’t ask again. doesn’t pus — he just waits.
“since…the party,” you finally answer, heart skipping a beat. “the last one yunjin and ryujin threw.”
taehyung exhales slowly, nodding like the last piece of the puzzle just slid into place. “and now?”
you shrug. “i don’t know. it’s not — it’s not anything official.”
“but it’s something.”
you nod once; your throat feels tight. “yeah.”
he doesn’t look at you. just keeps driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gearshift. he has this way of listening that feels like standing in warm water — no pressure, no sudden movements, just something steady wrapping around you.
“she looked at you,” he adds. “not just in the stadium. outside too. and i figured you were seeing one of those girls when they kept stopping by when they didn’t need to.”
you chew the inside of your cheek.
“and i thought maybe minjeong…or giselle, ningning was third on that list because i know she’s straight, and karina,” he continues to explain, quieter. “well, never thought of karina.”
your fingers curl into the hem of your hoodie. you don’t know how to explain that seeing her then felt like a goodbye. not because she asked for one, but because you finally understood that she’ll never offer you more than what she already has.
and what she has is crumbs. warm, soft, intoxicating crumbs — but crumbs all the same.
he doesn’t ask for more detail, nor does he ask what happened between you or what didn’t. he just drives, turning down a quieter street now, the road lit in patches by dim streetlamps and fallen leaves swirling across the asphalt.
“you ever think maybe she loves you in the only way she knows how?” he asks, not as a defence. not even as a question, really. just a thought.
you nod. “i think about it too much.”
“and still,” he says, almost to himself, “she puts on his jacket.”
you say nothing because what could you possibly say to that?
he turns left and slows at a light. “you wear your heart so loud,” he murmurs like he’s talking to himself. “always have. it’s one of the best things about you; making space for people to give them room to figure themselves out. but that doesn’t mean you’re the one who has to wait in the dark while they do.”
you swallow hard.
“but people like her…people who live in compartments…they don’t know what to do with someone like you.”
a breath catches in your chest. it’s the second thing someone close to you has said that has slapped you with a reality check.
“just don’t let her keep taking parts of you she’s not ready to hold,” he adds. “you don’t have to disappear just to make her life easier.”
taehyung turns onto your street and slows to a stop in front of the building. the porch light is still on. your bag is heavier now and so is your chest.
you don’t move right away.
“thank you,” you say softly.
he doesn’t smile, not really. just nods once.
“get some sleep,” he replies. “and y/n — don’t shrink yourself for her. not even when it feels like love.”
you open the door. the cold air hits your face.
you look back once before closing it. he’s still watching the road, hands loose, eyes quiet.
you step out into the night. and it feels like the first step away from her.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the next few days come by and the dorm is hushed in the way only midday can be — not silent, exactly, but still. still enough that the distant hum of a neighbour’s vacuum and the clink of a spoon in someone else’s sink become entire soundscapes.
sunlight cuts across the floorboards in long, lazy streaks.
it hits the legs of the kitchen stools, the rumpled edges of a hoodie on the back of your chair — jimin’s hoodie. the one she left here two weeks ago like she was coming back the next day.
you haven’t touched it. it just hangs there, like a question you never had the guts to ask.
there’s a textbook open on the floor in front of you, but the words haven’t moved in over an hour. they stare back — dense and stubborn — while your pen rests uselessly in your hand. a set of notes is half-written beside it, your own handwriting trailing off mid-thought.
you had been underlining things at some point, highlighting in long streaks, as if pretending to study would be enough to quiet the echo that’s been sitting in your chest since last night.
but it hasn’t.
the ache hasn’t moved. hasn’t lessened. it just lingers like steam clinging to glass after a shower, invisible until it’s caught in the right light.
outside, you can hear the faint laughter of someone coming back from somewhere, shoes scraping across the entry mat. the front door closes a few minutes later, light footsteps in the hallway — and then giselle appears in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, a container of something in her hands.
pasta. leftover, probably from some girl’s apartment she refused to label anything.
“you’re alive,” she heaves out a sigh, popping a forkful into her mouth.
you nod, still on the floor, back against the bookshelf.
“barely,” she corrects.
you shrug.
she walks over and plops down beside you, sliding the container between you both like it’s a peace offering. “you want some? it’s actually not bad. i think she put truffle oil in it.”
“who’s she?”
“irrelevant,” she answers through a mouthful. “i left before sunrise — was missing you a little too much.”
you let out a sound that’s not quite a laugh. “dickhead.”
for a while, she eats in silence. you watch the way the sauce stains the edge of the lid, how she twists the fork slowly between bites, not looking at you.
“taehyung told me you went to the game.”
the quiet swells. you nod, slow, as you press your lips together.
her eyes stay on the food. “saw her?”
another nod.
you can feel the way she’s waiting, she’s not saying anything until you do. it’s not pressure. it’s…patience.
you shake your head. “i don’t know.”
“that bad?”
“no. just…”
you trail off. the weight of it sits too awkwardly in your mouth.
she nudges the pasta closer to you. you take a bite just to have something to do with your hands.
your voice, when it comes, is thin. cracked at the edge. “i saw a full version of her…of what i don’t get to have.”
her chewing slows. she doesn’t answer immediately — just sits with it.
the silence stretches until it starts to ache. you pick at the edge of the rug. part of you wants her to laugh it off, say something sharp to make it less pathetic to tease you out of it.
but she doesn’t.
“i thought i was fine with it,” you admit. “this whole…whatever we’ve been doing. the secrecy. the sneaking around. i thought i could handle it.”
her gaze finds yours, finally.
“but then i saw her like that,” you continue, voice quieter now. “and it hit me that someone out there gets to love her out loud.”
the words land heavy. right in your chest.
she leans back on her hands, stretching her legs out. she doesn’t speak right away. just watches the ceiling like it might have answers.
“you’re not dramatic for wanting that,” she eventually says. it’s not much. but it nearly unravels you. “people act like being the secret is romantic, like it’s some kind of thrill. but it’s not. it’s lonely. and you end up second-guessing everything, wondering if they’re even thinking about you when they leave the room until it makes you forget you deserve anything better.”
you breathe slowly, letting the words settle somewhere behind your ribs.
the tears don’t fall. not yet but your chest feels full in the worst kind of way.
“what do i do?” you ask, and it’s the first time you’ve said it out loud.
giselle shrugs, gentle. “you wait. until it stops hurting less to be without her than to be with her like this.”
you nod, even if you’re not ready.
“i’m gonna get ready for class, okay?” she gives your temple a quick kiss and stands eventually, drops the fork in the sink and doesn’t say goodbye when she leaves.
she never does. she just goes, like she knows you’ll still be here. and you will because you don’t know what else to be right now except still.
your phone buzzes in the silence that follows; you don’t move.
you’re tired of answering questions that don’t change anything. tired of checking for her name just to be reminded she’s always careful with it.
so you stay on the floor. the light moves across the room, slow and indifferent.
and for now, that’s all there is.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
it’s after midnight now and the air feels wrong.
the kind of wrong that makes the walls feel too close, it settles behind your ribs and hums there, restless. your curtains are drawn, but the soft amber spill from the streetlamp outside finds its way in anyway, painting the room in quiet shapes.
there’s a glass of water on your bedside table that you haven’t touched. a jumper you haven’t worn in days crumpled at your feet. your phone is on silent, screen down.
you haven’t gone to class since the game. haven’t replied to jimin’s texts. the ones that started light — did you get home okay? — and then turned vague. just your name. just you there?
you are, just not in any way that counts.
you’ve spent most of the last three days watching your ceiling change colour with the light. barely speaking.
every time ryujin knocks on your door, her voice is too soft, like she’s afraid you’ll break if she says your name too loudly. giselle left a banana and two paracetamols on your desk this morning and didn’t say anything at all. yunjin sat beside you last night and watched a whole film in silence, just so you wouldn’t have to be alone.
none of it touches the ache.
the sound of your door opening is so soft you think you’ve imagined it.
but then — movement. the shift of the air. a shadow crossing the narrow slice of light on the floor.
you turn your head.
jimin stands in your doorway.
hair tied up in a half-hearted knot. hoodie hanging off one shoulder, her eyes are ringed with sleeplessness — she looks like she hasn’t brushed her hair in days.
she looks like you feel.
she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask to come in.
she steps inside and closes the door behind her like it’s something she does all the time, as if it hasn’t been days and you haven’t been ignoring her.
she crosses the room slowly and you don’t move. just sit up a little, watching her like a ghost you’re not sure you believe in.
she doesn’t apologise.
she just sits at the edge of your bed and looks at you like she hasn’t seen you in weeks…like the version of you that smiled at her during rooftop screenings and laughed with her on cold pavements is something she can still reach if she sits close enough.
her voice is rough when it finally comes. “i couldn’t sleep.”
you swallow.
there are a hundred things you could say. a thousand versions of why are you here, why didn’t you choose me, what are we doing, what do you want from me.
instead, you say nothing for a long time. and then: “i’m tired.”
not angry. not sharp.
just tired.
she nods once, like she’s heard that in her bones before.
and then she does something worse than apologising.
she pulls back your blanket and climbs into your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like you haven’t been pulling away in the quietest, most painful way a person can — by disappearing where it hurts.
her body is warm beside yours. too warm. your legs brush and the space between you is barely anything.
neither of you speak.
her breathing evens out, but you know she’s awake. there’s a stiffness in her spine that hasn’t eased; a question in her fingers that haven’t reached for you.
and then, in a whisper so low you barely hear it: “i miss you.”
the words make your eyes sting.
because what does that even mean anymore?
you stare at the ceiling. at the same crack you’ve been tracing for three days. at the nothing that comes after you’ve given someone everything in silence and watched them hand it back in pieces.
you could say i miss you too. you do, but missing her isn’t the problem. the problem is you miss her even when she’s lying right here.
so you stay still.
don’t pull away.
don’t reach for her.
you just lie there beside her, heart tight, body aching and wonder what kind of love hurts like this.
morning hasn’t fully arrived yet — the light coming through your curtains is thin, silver-pale and quiet. it’s the in-between hour, where everything feels slower and slightly out of focus.
you’re not sure what woke you despite not really sleeping. maybe the shift of her breathing, or the weight of her arm around your waist, her wrist loose against your ribs like it belongs there.
jimin’s still asleep.
her body curled close, face turned in toward the hollow of your shoulder. one of her hands is tucked under her cheek and there’s a crease pressed into her temple from your pillow. her breathing is soft, steady.
she looks younger like this. softer. like she’s been fighting something in silence and only lets herself rest here, with you, when she thinks no one can see it.
for a moment, you let yourself pretend.
pretend this is yours. that the night wasn’t a lapse in judgment. that she isn’t going to leave again.
your thumb brushes against her sleeve, just once. and it’s enough to stir her.
her lashes flutter then her eyes open, slow and disoriented. she looks up at you, her face still half-buried in the sheets. for a second, there’s no hesitation in her expression. something almost like peace.
and then her phone buzzes on the nightstand.
neither of you move.
it buzzes again.
she turns her head.
the name on the screen glows like it was waiting for the light to find it — jaewook.
the spell breaks.
you feel her body tense before she even moves. she doesn’t reach for it but doesn’t silence it either; just lets it ring until it stops.
the quiet that follows is deeper than before.
her breath catches — just slightly — and when she exhales, it shudders. like something’s breaking under the surface and whatever piece of herself she’s been trying to hold together is cracking in her throat.
you shift, pulling back just enough to see her face.
her eyes are red.
and that’s when you realise she’s holding back tears.
you don’t ask.
you don’t know who they’re for.
and maybe that’s what hurts most — not knowing whether the guilt in her chest belongs to you or him.
her voice is small when she finally speaks. rough like she’s been carrying it for days.
“i heard them talking,” she whispers.
you look at her but she doesn’t meet your gaze.
“yunjin and irene,” she continues. “in the hallway. they didn’t know i was there.”
your stomach tightens.
her fingers curl slightly, twisting into the fabric between you.
“irene said…you deserve someone who’s all-in, that you shouldn’t have to keep waiting for someone who’s only half-here.”
she laughs. sharp, breathless. not because it’s funny — because it stings.
“and the worst part is…she’s right.”
you remain quiet because you don’t know how to say any of it without sounding like you’re breaking.
because the truth is, you have been waiting.
for her to choose you and say i’m done pretending.
for something to shift — something to give…but nothing has.
and now she’s lying here beside you, crying quietly into your sheets, mourning something she still hasn’t had the courage to leave.
you look at her — this girl you love in too many ways — and all you can do is breathe with her. hold the silence and wait for the next decision you know you’ll have to make.
because it can’t stay like this.
not forever.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the lecture hall smells like old carpet and too much cologne. it’s too bright for how little sleep you’ve had and the weight of your backpack feels uneven on your shoulders, like your body forgot how to carry things that aren’t grief.
the buzz of conversation hums just beneath the surface, low and casual; students swapping notes, groaning about midterms, pretending the world didn’t shift while you were gone.
you haven’t been here in four days.
four days since you let the campus drift without you. you walk in late, not late enough to be rude. just late enough that no one notices — that’s what you were aiming for.
the back rows are half full. most faces you don’t recognise; economics students, mostly. this is the cross-listed elective you promised yourself you’d pay attention to. you don’t remember the title. something about negotiation or decision theory.
and then you see her again.
irene.
she’s seated two rows from the top, her laptop already open, notes half-typed in her impossible handwriting. she’s in one of her tidy outfits; turtleneck, soft brown coat, hair slicked back into something clean. no eye contact, not yet.
but her bag is sitting on the seat beside her. not on the floor spread out like a barrier.
an invitation, maybe.
you hesitate for a beat. not because you’re unsure, but because you’re tired of pretending you don’t care who you sit beside. you do. it’s always been her…always been easy with her.
you step into the row. slide into the seat without a word. she glances at you, brief.
at least it’s not sharp or cold, you thought.
“hi,” she greets. it’s the first word she’s spoken to you in over a week.
you swallow. “hey.”
you don’t say more. she doesn’t either…not right away.
but she slides a takeaway coffee cup toward you a moment later — long black, extra hot, no sugar. the way you like it. it’s got the little paper sleeve from the corner café. your name isn’t written on it, but you know it’s yours.
you take it with both hands.
the lecturer begins. slides flick onto the screen. people start typing.
you sit there, holding the cup, listening to her breathe beside you. she doesn’t move away. doesn’t shift her weight like your presence makes her nervous. she just sits — poised, efficient, the same as always.
but her elbow brushes yours every time she types, and she doesn’t pull back.
halfway through the lecture, she leans in slightly, still watching the slides.
“you’re back,” she murmurs, so quiet it’s almost just for herself.
you nod.
her lips press into a line. “it’s good.”
“thanks,” you say softly, keeping your eyes on the front.
the voice of the lecturer fades in and out around the edges of your focus, and the only thing that tethers you to the moment is the sound of irene’s fingers on the keyboard.
by the time the slides switch to case examples, you’re both leaning slightly toward each other. not touching, but aligned. a tilt of the shoulder, perhaps a quiet truce.
when the lecture ends, she stands, smooth and unhurried.
“brunch?” she asks, like she hasn’t been waiting to ask. like she didn’t spend the last week giving you distance so you could feel the space you made.
you nod.
outside, the campus is soft with wind. gingko leaves collect in little golden drifts against the steps and a few first years in yonsei hoodies jog past with takeaway cups balanced between their hands. you and irene walk in step, just like always, hands in your coat pockets, quiet until you reach the corner café that knows both your orders by now.
you take the table by the window that’s always too sunny after 10 a.m. the waitress doesn’t ask. just brings your long black and her oat flat white like it’s muscle memory. you peel the lid off your cup slowly.
the silence isn’t heavy — just full. like both of you are still stretching into the shape of being close again.
she pulls her sleeves over her hands. “you look like shit.”
you snort. “thanks.”
she takes a sip of her coffee. doesn’t smile. “you been eating?”
“barely.”
a pause.
“sleeping?”
“not really.”
her jaw shifts. “you should’ve told me.”
you hummed. “i know.”
the food comes; eggs and toast and something green you didn’t order but know you’ll eat anyway. halfway through your plate, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.
you chose to ignore it.
a shadow moves across the table a second later, and when you look up, to your surprise, jimin is standing there.
she’s wearing a navy coat you’ve seen before, hair in a clip, eyes faintly red like she’s been rubbing them. she’s holding a paper bag in one hand and a smoothie in the other. not dressed up or trying. just there.
“hey,” she greets, voice quiet. it’s directed at both of you, but mostly you.
you blink. “hi.”
she hesitates then glances at irene. “is it okay if i sit?”
irene doesn’t look at you. she just moves her fork slowly across her plate. “sure.”
the word is sharp and soft at once.
jimin lowers herself into the seat across from you. the smoothie lands gently on the table. she slides the paper bag toward you without a word. you open it and find the same sandwich she made you last week, wrapped in paper, the corner folded down with care.
you don’t know what to say, so you press your hand to the bag for a second. then let it go.
she looks at you for a long time, her expression is unreadable. but something in her jaw shifts when she glances back at irene.
“you two have this every week?” she asks, trying for casual.
“since second year,” irene replies without missing a beat.
it’s not meant to be hostile. it just is.
jimin nods once, slow.
you drink your coffee like it’s something to do with your hands. no one speaks for a moment.
a gust of wind lifts a pile of leaves against the glass outside and a couple walks past laughing, arms linked, heads pressed together. the kind of closeness you’ve been living in the absence of.
irene finishes her meal and sets her cutlery down neatly, wipes her mouth with the edge of a napkin. then turns to you.
“you coming to class tomorrow?”
you nod. “yeah.”
she stands. slides her coat over her shoulders with clean, practiced movements; doesn’t look at jimin again.
before she walks away, she rests a hand on your shoulder for the briefest second.
and then she’s gone.
jimin stares down at the table. her fingers trace the condensation on the smoothie cup, slow and aimless.
“i didn’t think she’d be that cold,” she murmurs.
“she’s not,” you sigh. “that was polite.”
she swallows, nodding. “right.”
the silence that follows says everything neither of you want to name. she’s trying. she’s showing up. but something still isn’t lining up — and now someone else has seen it, too.
you look out the window.
and for the first time, you wonder if she can ever close the gap she keeps stepping into.
she doesn’t say anything for a while.
her fingers keep moving — over the rim of the smoothie cup, down the side of the paper bag, folding and unfolding the corner of a napkin like she needs something to do to stay still. she’s sitting across from you but feels further than she was three days ago, when she climbed under your sheets like she belonged there.
she looks tired. the kind that sleep doesn’t fix. like something inside her’s been fraying for a while, and she’s only just noticed the threads pulling loose.
you don’t touch your sandwich.
she glances up once, meets your eyes, then looks away just as quickly.
“she doesn’t like me,” she says with such finality, voice too quiet for the hum of the café.
“it’s not about liking you,” you murmur.
“feels like it is.”
you rest your elbows on the edge of the table, hands curled loosely around your cup. the warmth has faded and the coffee’s cold. you don’t remember the last time you drank it.
“irene’s protective,” you defend. “and she’s careful. she doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean.”
she nods slowly. you can tell she already knows what you’re saying; that it’s not about manners. that whatever irene didn’t say said enough.
the sky shifts — clouds thickening, light dimming. you glance at her then, really glance and she looks…exhausted. not just in her eyes, but everywhere. her posture, her breath, the way she’s curling into herself like she knows she shouldn’t have come.
but she did.
and now she’s sitting across from you, hurting in a way you almost recognise. almost.
“do you want to walk back?” she asks, not quite hopeful, not quite resigned.
you stare at the edge of the table between you, at the ring her drink left behind on the wood. something about it feels metaphorical. something about it makes you want to say no.
but instead, you stand.
because you’re not ready to let her go. not yet.
and she knows that. that’s the problem. she always knows.
the air outside is colder than before. there’s that late morning chill that clings to your sleeves, brushes the back of your neck. your coat’s zipped halfway, but you don’t fix it. jimin walks beside you, arms crossed like she’s holding herself in. her steps are slower than usual, like she’s trying to stretch the short walk across campus into something longer. like if she keeps moving slowly enough, maybe you won’t leave her behind.
neither of you speak.
your shoes scuff the path in sync. someone bikes past with a pastry bag hooked on their handlebars. you watch it swing slightly with each bump, more focused on that than the silence between you.
she keeps stealing glances.
not big ones — that flick to you and back again, like she’s checking for signs. checking to see if you’re still here.
if you’re still hers in the small ways that matter.
you think about how quiet she was at the table. how still she sat when irene’s voice cut clean between you. she didn’t push back and you’re not sure if that made it better or worse.
her fingers brush yours once. not on purpose. not quite accidental either.
you don’t pull away.
“hey,” she says after a while. voice soft. not careful, but…small.
you glance at her.
she’s still not looking at you. eyes on the path ahead. brow furrowed like she’s working up to something she’s not sure how to carry.
“my parents are in town next weekend.”
you blink. “okay.”
she slows a little more. her shoe nudges a loose pebble across the concrete.
“they’re hosting dinner. at ours.” a pause. “i haven’t told them…anything. just that i wanted to bring someone special.”
your pulse shifts. you feel it — low and hot in your throat.
she bites her lip in the way people do when they’re genuinely unsure. when they’re not performing softness but trying to ask for something without the words cracking in their mouth.
“will you come?”
and it hits you. not hard, not loud — just steady. weighted. like something being placed in your hands you’re not sure how to hold.
you don’t know why you say yes.
you don’t know what it means that she asked.
maybe it’s the way she said someone. not a friend.
or maybe it’s just the way she’s looking at you now — finally. like there’s no script, no layers. she’s asking you not as the girl she kisses behind closed doors, but as the one she’s scared to want out in the open.
so you say it. quiet. unsteady.
“yeah. okay.”
her whole body shifts. you feel it beside you — the tension that slips just enough for her shoulders to drop. like she’s been holding her breath for days.
“next sunday?” she says, barely above the breeze.
you nod. “got it.”
she smiles then, soft and wrecked and still a little afraid. and you keep walking side by side. not touching.
but still, for now, walking the same way.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the apartment smells like real food for the first time in weeks.
not microwave popcorn or ramen. it’s actual food — garlic and tomatoes and something vaguely herby that giselle refuses to name. she’s standing by the stovetop like it’s a cooking show, towel over her shoulder, hair tied up with a scrunchie stolen from ningning.
there’s a pan of bubbling sauce, a pot she keeps lifting the lid on dramatically, and garlic bread that’s already half burnt because yunjin “forgot” to check the oven when she was told to.
everyone’s here. even ryujin, who claimed she had plans but came home anyway. they’ve all been quiet around you — not weird, just gentler like you’ve turned into something made of glass, and no one wants to be the one to knock you over.
but tonight, there’s music. some playlist that’s been on since giselle started chopping onions. and the table’s set. plates stacked, candles lit — the kind you found on sale at daiso last month and never used.
you’re sitting at the far end, watching yunjin and ryujin quietly bicker over who burnt the bread, voices low but faces tight. it’s not serious — it never is, but the tension feels louder than it needs to be.
you lean forward, resting your elbow on the table. “it’s okay,” you breath out, voice dry. “just say it out loud.”
ryujin blinks at you. then shrugs. “okay. she left it in for too long.”
“i was checking the sauce,” yunjin snaps.
“no one fucking asked you to check the sauce.”
“giselle asked me.”
“i asked you both,” giselle mutters from the kitchen, already sounding annoyed.
“it’s still edible,” yunjin adds, ripping off a chunk and stuffing it into her mouth. “barely.”
you watch them with a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. for the first time in days, you feel here.
giselle finally brings over the pot — something creamy and full of mushrooms — and starts serving with the pride of a woman who hasn’t cooked in two months.
you take your plate with both hands. “thank you,” you say quietly.
she sits beside you. “don’t thank me until you’ve tried it.”
you try it and it’s good. maybe even great. someone makes a joke about opening a restaurant. someone else suggests they’d be bankrupt in a week. and the garlic bread gets eaten anyway.
the conversation wanders. it always does — old memes, worse exes, a professor who got fired for saying something weird in a lecture.
no one brings up her. not at first.
but the silence that follows after everyone finishes eating is thick. full of things that want to be said. giselle’s twirling her fork, ryujin’s pushing the crust of bread across her plate, and yunjin’s just watching you now, head tilted.
you exhale. “she asked me to meet her parents.”
the room stills.
you don’t look up, shamefully just keep your eyes on your plate; the sauce is drying at the edges.
“who?” ryujin says, like it’s not obvious.
you glance up. “jimin.”
no one moves. not really; just a shift in posture, a flicker of breath.
“and you said yes?” giselle asks, gently…not accusing.
you answer with a nod.
“why?” that’s yunjin. always blunt.
you pause. “because she asked.”
it’s the truth. it’s also not enough.
“babe,” ryujin begins, and you know what’s coming before she even says it. “this isn’t…this isn’t what it’s supposed to be.”
“she’s trying,” you defend quickly. too quickly. “she’s showing up more. she’s — she made me food.”
“food?” she repeats. “like what, a fucking sandwich?”
“shut up,” you mutter, but your laugh dies fast.
giselle sets her fork down. “we’re not saying this to gang up on you.”
“you are!”
“maybe,” ryujin agrees. “but, like, lovingly.”
you roll your eyes, but your chest feels tight.
“we’re just worried,” yunjin continues, softer now. “we see you every day. and you’re not…you’re not fine.”
no one speaks for a long time.
you stare at the table, at the way the candle flickers against the edge of your water glass. your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to.
“it’s not all bad.”
“we know,” giselle mumbles. “but is it good?”
you don’t answer…because that’s the question, isn’t it? not does she love you or do you love her back.
but is this love helping you breathe, or is it the thing keeping your lungs full of water?
no one pushes you to answer. they just sit there, with you, in the heaviness. no judgement. just concern. just the sound of someone clearing their throat and someone else pouring more water, like any of it might loosen the knot in your chest.
you don’t know what you’re going to do.
but for the first time in days, it feels like you might have to figure it out alone.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the apartment is unusually quiet for a friday night. no bass from the neighbours downstairs, no ryujin yelling over bluetooth, no yunjin trying to fry something she’ll forget on the stove.
just you and giselle on the couch, the soft flicker of a muted documentary lighting the room in pale, shifting blue. there’s a half-finished bowl of popcorn between you, forgotten somewhere around the mating rituals of tropical birds.
neither of you are talking. but it’s not uncomfortable.
her feet are propped on the coffee table, one sock falling off her heel. her head rests against the armrest, legs bent slightly, her phone loose in her hand like she wasn’t even using it. you’re lying sideways, legs draped across her lap, one hand resting absently against your stomach. there’s an ease between you that doesn’t need filling.
it’s strange how long you’ve lived together — how many nights you’ve shared in silence, in mess, in too-loud music and ramen-fuelled laughter — and still, sometimes, she feels like a mystery. not distant nor layered, more like someone you know by feel but never entirely by name. you think she likes it that way. maybe you do too.
she tosses a piece of popcorn at your hoodie. misses. you don’t react.
“you’re quiet tonight,” she speaks eventually.
“so are you.”
she shrugs. “you’re heavier than usual. thought i’d let you be.”
you hum under your breath. not a real answer. but she doesn’t push.
a bike bell rings faintly down the street and a breeze passes through the crack in the window you never fixed. you stretch your legs slightly, feel her hand land on your shin in reflex, light and grounding.
“you ever think about how weird this is?” you murmur.
she raises an eyebrow. “this?”
“us. the way we know everything and nothing about each other.”
she turns her head to look at you properly now, eyes narrowed in thought. “yeah,” she agrees wholeheartedly. “but i think that’s why it works.”
you nod as you let your head rest back into the pillow.
for a moment, it feels like peace.
until the front door clicks open.
you both freeze — not with fear, but with recognition. the shape of the footsteps, the sound of a bag strap brushing the wall.
jimin.
she appears in the doorway seconds later, dressed in that navy coat she always wears when she’s been out longer than she meant to. her cheeks are pink from the cold, hands still in her pockets as her eyes find you instantly.
she sees you first.
then giselle.
her posture shifts just slightly.
“hey,” she greets.
giselle sits up, one arm still resting along the back of the couch. “you’re back.”
“yeah.” jimin’s voice is soft as she glances between you both, like she’s trying to measure something. “sorry. i didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
“you’re not,” giselle disagrees, but her gaze lingers.
“can i talk to you?” jimin asks, this time only to you.
you feel giselle glance your way before she rises, slow and wordless, collecting her glass as she goes. she claps a hand lightly on jimin’s shoulder as she passes — not cold, not warm either. just familiar.
a reminder that they used to be good friends before all of this started shifting in ways no one could quite keep up with.
the silence stretches as jimin watches her disappear down the hallway.
she waits.
eventually, you stand as you walk into your room without looking back.
she shuts the door behind her with a kind of finality that makes the whole room shrink. no loud click or drama. just the soft, deliberate sound of someone sealing themselves into a space they don’t know how to exist in anymore.
you don’t look up at first. you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, hands braced on your knees like they might keep you from slipping. your back is straight. your jaw is tight. and your chest…god, it’s full. too full. like something’s pressing at your ribs, trying to get out.
you feel her move closer.
feel the way her presence shifts the air, makes it warmer, makes it worse.
she doesn’t sit beside you. not yet. she just hovers there, like she’s waiting for permission to speak even though she never needed it before.
“what’s going on?” her voice is quiet. tired. maybe she already knows. maybe she just wants to hear it fall apart from your mouth.
you stare at your hands. they’re shaking a little. you hadn’t noticed.
she exhales when you don’t answer. takes a slow step forward. “do you still want me?”
you laugh — not because it’s funny, but because it hurts. because it’s such a ridiculous thing to ask when you’ve spent the past month pulling yourself apart just to make space for her. just to make the feelings small enough that she wouldn’t run from them.
“of course i do,” you whisper. “what a silly thing to ask.”
she kneels down then, in front of you, and places her hands gently on your knees. like she’s trying to anchor you…or she’s trying to stay anchored herself.
you finally look at her.
and there it is — the girl you love, looking at you as if she’s drowning too.
your throat burns. your voice is rough when it comes. “but i can’t keep doing this, jimin.”
she doesn’t move.
“i wake up every day feeling sick,” you confess, the words spilling faster now, like they’ve been sitting too long. “i’m the worst version of myself because i keep letting this happen. because i keep letting you happen to me.”
she flinches, but doesn’t look away.
“i’m not someone who sneaks around,” you continue as you look down at her. “i’m not someone who hides. i’m not someone who falls for people who belong to someone else, but somehow—” your voice breaks. “somehow i did.”
you pause. press the heels of your hands into your eyes. “and the worst part is,” you add, barely above a whisper now, “i think you’re unhappy too.”
she breathes in sharply.
“i see it in your eyes,” you say before she can deny it. “when you’re with him; when you’re with me. you’re torn in half. and i’m holding one piece like it’s the whole thing, but it’s not. it’s never been.”
you look at her again.
she’s crying now. silently. the way she always does like she hates letting you see it. and still, you go on.
“i want peace, i want to sleep without this guilt. i want to look at myself in the mirror and not hate the girl staring back.”
she opens her mouth, but you shake your head. “don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you whisper.
“i’m not,” she replies, and it breaks something in her throat. “i’m not — please. just…just a little more time. i swear i’ll leave him after winter break.”
your chest caves. because she always says after. after the break. after the game. after the next right moment.
“why not now?” you ask, voice raw.
she looks at you like you’ve asked her to jump. and maybe you have. “because i’m scared,” she answers. “because i don’t know how to hurt someone who’s only ever been good to me.”
“so you’ll keep hurting me instead?” it slips out before you can stop it. soft, sharp.
she chokes on a breath.
“i love you,” she admits with such finality. suddenly, it’s been waiting behind every word. “i love you.”
you freeze.
because you want it. god, you want it. you’ve waited for it. but hearing it now feels like bleeding into someone’s hands after they’ve already broken your skin.
you close your eyes. “i love you too.”
and still — when she leans in, forehead against yours, crying softly into the space between you, you let her stay there.
this is what it’s like, you think. to be loved in halves. to be looked at like everything is fine when the rest of your world still feels like it’s bleeding out beneath your feet.
but you smile anyway.
because if there’s one thing you’ve learned, it’s how to make longing look like patience, how to make pain look like poise and how you’re not ready to walk away from the ache just yet.
Synopsis: Y/N always noticed Karina—the quiet, beautiful girl who lived in her books. What began as shared coffees and casual snacks turned into soft moments and quiet stares. One day, Y/N slips a simple confession into their usual conversation, not expecting much—only to find out she’d been waiting to hear it all along.
Word Count: 1,770
Karina X Male Reader
You had a crush on Karina—a bookworm who always seemed to live in the library. She was quiet, rarely spoke unless necessary, but somehow always carried herself like a princess. A serene beauty. Almost untouchable.
You’d catch yourself staring at her whenever you passed by—how she’d tuck her hair behind her ear while reading, the way she highlighted with precision, or how she’d softly chew the end of her pen when stuck on a problem.
Sometimes, just sometimes, you swore she’d glance back at you too. But you never thought much of it. Probably coincidence. Probably not.
One day, while lying back on a bench, staring at the ceiling, you muttered out loud,
“Yo bro… you know that one girl who always studies in the library?”
Your friend looked up from his phone. “Karina? From class 1-B? Yeah. My girlfriend said she’s insanely smart.”
“I like her.”
Your friend nearly choked on his gum. “What? I mean… okay, not surprising. You literally ignore me whenever we’re at the library just to stare at her.”
You snorted. “You think she has a boyfriend?”
“Nah, I doubt it. She’s got a lot of followers though. Even girls drool over her.”
“Not surprised,” you muttered. “She’s beautiful… and smart.”
Your friend nudged your shoulder. “Well, if you like her, it doesn’t hurt to try, right?”
You turned your head to him, smirking. “You’re right. What’s the plan?”
“Bookworms love caffeine, bro! Bring her coffee. Or an energy drink—wait no, energy drinks are bad. Coffee and chocolate. Trust me.”
“I kinda don’t have money for that right now, though…”
He looked at you. “You’re broke but in love. That’s powerful.”
You groaned. “Whatever. I’ll make it work.”
The next day, you scraped together just enough to buy a cup of coffee and a bar of milk chocolate. Your friend gave you the signal from the other side of the shelves.
There she was.
Karina, sitting at her usual spot. Head bent over her notes, highlighters lined like soldiers beside her, books cracked open with neat annotations in the margins. A quiet world she built for herself, and somehow, you were about to step into it.
You cleared your throat.
“H-hi.”
Her head lifted slowly, eyes calm and unreadable. “Do I know you?”
“Uh… no? Probably not. Maybe… kind of?”
She blinked.
You shoved the coffee and chocolate toward her. “I just wanted you to have this.”
She looked down at them, then back up at you. “Oh? That’s unusual.” A small pause. “But thanks, I guess?”
You opened your mouth to respond, and she added with the faintest smirk,
“…I don’t drink americano, though.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—you don’t?”
She looked up at you properly this time, and damn, she was even prettier up close. Her voice was soft, unbothered, but her eyes had the tiniest spark of amusement. Like she was messing with you.
“Nope,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Too bitter. I like sweet things.”
You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. “Ah… noted. I’ll bring something sweeter next time, then.”
“Next time?” Her eyebrow raised.
You smiled, scratching your cheek. “I mean… if you let me.”
There was a pause. You were sure she was going to laugh you off or go back to studying—but instead, Karina glanced down at the coffee and chocolate again. Her fingers brushed the wrapper like it meant something more than it should.
“…You’re kind of weird,” she said, then gave you the smallest smile. A real one. The type that makes your chest flutter a bit too fast. “But I don’t hate it.”
“thanks!, next time i’ll bring something sweet, you can take the milk chocolate tho.”
“mhm thanks.” she smiled after you left she opened the chocolate bar and ate it while studying.
Days passed.
You worked extra shifts after school, skipped lunch a few times, and even sold your limited-edition keychain—just so you could afford what you had in your hands now: a caramel macchiato and a slice of strawberry cheesecake in a plastic box with a gold fork.
There she was again, in her usual spot. Same focused eyes. Same calm air. But something about her felt warmer now—maybe it was you, or maybe she was waiting for you too.
You approached with a grin. “Hey! I’m back. Like I told you.”
Karina glanced up, blinking slowly like she’d just come back from another world. “Didn’t expect that,” she said, setting her pen down. “What do you have today?”
“Caramel macchiato,” you said, carefully placing it in front of her, “and uh… strawberry cheesecake. I hope you like it.”
Her expression shifted, just slightly.
“I love strawberries,” she said, eyeing the slice. “And caramel.”
You chuckled, a little too proud. “Guess I made the right guess.”
She paused, then used her hand to push the chair across from her out with her foot. A gesture. An invitation. “Sit.”
You didn’t even hesitate.
She sipped her coffee slowly, flipping through pages, occasionally underlining with a yellow highlighter. You watched her in silence, content. Honestly, you could’ve done that for hours.
But she spoke. “Why do you bother bringing me food?”
You blinked. “Uh—nothing! I just figured you’d be hungry or thirsty from all the studying…”
She raised an eyebrow. “What a creep. You’ve been spying on me?”
Your eyes widened. “No, no! I just… always seem to look at you. You have this… I don’t know… allure or something.”
Karina set her pen down, turning slightly to face you, lips tugging into the smallest, teasing smile. “Wow, I’m flattered,” she said, dry and sarcastic—but not cold.
“Okay that came out wrong,” you laughed nervously. “I mean… you’re just… nice to look at.”
She shook her head, amused. “You’re weird.”
“But you let me sit.”
“I did.”
And that was how it began. Little by little, day by day, you’d bring her coffee and something sweet. She’d let you stay. Sometimes she’d ask you about your day. Other times she’d pass you a spare highlighter just so you had an excuse to pretend you were working too.
The silence between you stopped feeling awkward—it became comfortable. Like maybe, just maybe, this quiet library princess didn’t mind your presence at all.
Hey, Rina!”
She looked up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re late today. What happened?”
You dropped your bag next to the seat across from her. “Just did some errands,” you said, a little breathless. “Also bought some snacks. Have you already eaten?”
She shook her head, eyes drifting back to her notes. “Nope. But you really don’t have to bring snacks or food all the time, you know?”
“It’s fine,” you said quickly, setting the bag down. “It’s… my nice gesture to maybe change something…”
Your voice trailed off into a mumble.
“Hm? You said something?”
“N-no. Nothing. Here.” You handed her the caramel macchiato you knew she liked—extra caramel, just how she preferred.
Without hesitation, she took a sip. And just as she was about to set it down, she paused and held the drink out to you.
“Wanna try?” she asked casually.
The straw. She hadn’t wiped the straw.
Your brain short-circuited for a second.
She noticed your silence and began pulling it back. “Ah—sorry, I’ll wipe it—”
But you snatched it gently from her hand and took a sip without thinking.
It was sweet. The caramel clung to your tongue, but her smile hit you harder.
“Wow,” she chuckled softly. “What a weirdo.”
You coughed, setting the cup down with a scowl. “Shut up…”
Her laughter was soft, rare. But real. And you loved it more than you wanted to admit.
Soon, the two of you were deep in conversation. You asked about her dreams—what she wanted after all this studying, all this quiet grinding. She said she wanted to work in publishing, maybe write a book of her own someday.
“What about you?” she asked, looking at you with genuine curiosity. “You never study when you’re here. What are you chasing?”
You thought for a second. “I’m chasing something I didn’t even know I wanted until recently.”
She raised a brow. “That sounds vague.”
“Maybe,” you said, glancing at her. “But I’ll let you know when I catch it.”
Her eyes lingered on yours for a second longer than usual.
And for the first time, she closed her notebook—not because she was done studying, but maybe, just maybe… because she wanted to hear more.
It was just past five. The golden hour light filtered through the tall library windows, painting Karina in soft amber—like she didn’t belong to this world, like she was made of something gentler.
She was focused as always, fingers brushing over her notes, a caramel macchiato sitting quietly by her hand. You were across from her, half pretending to study, half watching her—like always.
She noticed.
“You’re staring again,” she said without looking up, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
You chuckled under your breath. “Can’t help it.”
That earned you a glance. Her eyes held yours, calm but curious. “Why?”
You shrugged, playing it off, tapping your pen against your paper. “You’re just easy to look at.”
She blinked, then looked back down, a quiet chuckle escaping her. “Smooth.”
Silence again. A few beats passed. The world felt still around her.
And then, you spoke again—so casually, so gently it almost didn’t sound like a confession at all.
“I think I’m falling for you.”
She froze.
Not dramatically. Not like in a movie. Just… paused. Like your words rewrote the sentence she was reading.
You kept your eyes on the desk, heart pounding now that it was out there. “Sorry,” you added, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to make things weird.”
Karina didn’t respond immediately. She set her pen down, slowly, and looked at you.
Really looked at you.
“You didn’t,” she said softly. “You just made things… a little more real.”
You finally glanced up. Her eyes were warm—glowing almost, in the light—and for a second, you forgot how to breathe.
She reached out, fingers brushing yours across the table.
“I was hoping you’d say something first.”
Your lips parted. “You were?”
Karina nodded. “I’ve been falling too. Quietly. But you always notice the quiet things, don’t you?”
y/n has everything a college student could want: money, friends, and the admiration of everyone on campus. the only thing she can’t seem to get? the attention of the office’s newest intern.
NOW PLAYING ; Lackin' by Denise Julia “ see i won't stop 'til i got you down on your knees. i won't stop until you're beggin' for me, beggin' for me, please. ”
synopsis yonsei university’s new campus-exclusive social app was supposed to make connections easier—not drag y/n (bassist of the local emo band dissonance) back into gay yearning hell for jimin, the hot student council secretary with a fake boyfriend and homophobic parents.
genre ; enemies to lovers (ish) / slowburn / band + student council fuckery / college au / uni-life degeneracy
warnings ; excessive swearings / homophobic parents / closet trauma / fake dating / daddy issues / passive aggressive twitter posts / oversharing / sexual jokes + unfiltered gay panic / misuse of student council power
featuring ; tanaka anna as y/n's faceclaim / aespa / park jeongseong / huh yunjin / park wonbin / kim chaewon / shin ryujin / hwang yeji / liu yangyang / wong hendery / keeho / lee jeno
taglists are open !
status - on-going !
upd. sched - 4 chapters every after 2 days of collision upd !
main masterlist. playlist. dissonance ft. managers. warfreaks.
iii. i wanna feel guilty, i wanna feel that it’s wrong
synopsis: after a rare drunken night, y/n wakes up in bed next to the most untouchable girl at yonsei: karina. she’s immediately thrown into a mess she never wanted, torn between her own moral compass and the undeniable pull of something she doesn’t understand. some lines, once crossed, can never be undone.
w/c: 10k+
warnings: heavy cheating, implied sex, alcohol, smoking, just normal uni stuff, swearingggg, slow burn
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the morning comes too soon, creeping in through the gaps in your curtains, stretching golden light across the sheets. the air is warm, still heavy with sleep and everything is quiet except for the distant hum of the city outside. it takes a second to register the weight beside you, the warmth pressed against your back, the slow rise and fall of steady breathing.
jimin.
her arm is draped over your waist, fingers curled loosely into the fabric of your shirt like she has no intention of letting go. she’s still deep in sleep, her face half-buried in your pillow, lips parted slightly, hair messy from tossing and turning through the night.
this is bad. really, really bad. you don’t know how long you lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together the events that led to this moment.
except it doesn’t feel like that.
it feels comfortable; too comfortable.
you barely stir, caught in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness, your body still heavy with exhaustion.
but then — a sound.
the sharp buzz of a phone vibrating against the nightstand, insistent and repetitive, breaking the quiet of the room. your brows furrow as you turn slightly, your mind slowly dragging itself back to consciousness.
it takes a second for everything to click.
then, all at once, last night comes rushing back. the quiet giggles as you both stumbled inside, sneaking past your sleeping housemates. the way her body fit so perfectly against yours under the sheets, skin against skin, warmth melting into warmth — you don’t even think.
you press a slow, gentle kiss to her forehead, letting your lips linger there for just a second, your fingers threading softly through her hair.
she lets out a quiet sigh, shifting against you, her body pressing even closer, like she’s seeking out more warmth. her arm tightens around your waist, her body pressing flush against yours and for a second, you almost forget why this is a problem in the first place.
you let out a quiet breath of laughter. “your phone’s been ringing,” you whisper, voice still laced with sleep.
she shakes her head, barely opening her eyes, just moving closer to you, nuzzling against your neck. “don’t care,” she murmurs, voice raspy, heavy with sleep.
your breath hitches.
because now she’s so close, her lips brushing against your skin just slightly, the warmth of her breath sending a slow shiver down your spine.
“someone’s probably trying to find you,” you try again, but your voice is weaker this time, distracted by the way her fingers feel around your waist, her entire body pressing into you, closing every last inch of space between you.
“too early to be found,” she mutters, sighing softly. “too comfortable.”
you roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. it’s unfair, the way she says things like this so easily. as if it’s normal, as if there aren’t a hundred different reasons why this shouldn’t be happening. you should be panicking.
the faint, muffled sounds of movement outside your door are audible, probably your housemates whispering, speculating. you already know what’s waiting for you when you step outside — grins, teasing, questions you aren’t ready to answer.
“you smell good in the morning,” she mumbles, still buried against your neck, her voice soft, affectionate, dangerous.
your stomach flips. “jimin —”
“mm,” she hums, pressing closer, her arm tightening around your waist. “like coffee and something sweet.”
your heart stumbles.
she has to know what she’s doing.
she has to.
you try to ignore the warmth spreading through your chest, forcing yourself to focus on anything else.
“do you actually want me to call you jimin?” you ask, your voice quieter now.
she finally lifts her head slightly, just enough to look at you, her dark eyes still sleepy but soft, warm, something real flickering behind them.
“with you?” she murmurs, her lips twitching faintly. “yeah.”
you blink at her, your breath catching slightly. “why?”
jimin smiles, the kind that’s small and genuine and it makes something deep inside you ache. “because it makes it more special.”
you don’t know what this is. you don’t know what happens next, what this means, where this will lead.
but right now — right here, with her still tangled up in you, her voice still soft from sleep, her eyes still watching you like she’s trying to figure you out— you don’t want to leave this bed.
and she doesn’t want to leave, either.
you can tell from the way she stretches against you, her limbs lazy and slow, like she’s trying to convince you that staying in bed is the only logical option. her fingers trace absentminded patterns over your stomach and when you shift slightly, she tightens her hold, pressing closer with a small, content sigh.
“your bed is really comfortable,” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep, her lips brushing against your skin as she speaks. “and you’re so cosy.”
your stomach flips, but you force yourself to focus. “you need to go back to your dorm,” you remind her, running your fingers through her hair one last time before gently nudging her. “ningning and minjeong are probably wondering where the hell you are.”
“they probably know,” she mutters, making no move to get up. “they always know.”
“that’s even worse.”
“that makes it easier,” she corrects, stretching her arms above her head before letting them fall back around you. “we can just stay here all day.”
“we have class,” you remind her again, though your resolve is rapidly weakening. “we have to get up.”
“who cares?” she grumbles, shifting slightly, pressing herself even closer, making you curse everything internally. “your bed is so nice. i’m stealing it.”
you snort, finally mustering enough willpower to move, slipping from beneath her hold and sitting up. “you can steal the bed when you steal my degree for me too.”
jimin lets out a groan, dramatically rolling onto her back, draping an arm over her eyes like the universe has wronged her personally. “why are you such a responsible student?”
“because one of us has to be,” you retort, standing up and stretching, your back cracking slightly as you shake off the weight of sleep.
she whines dramatically once more but finally sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. she watches you, still half-buried in the sheets, her eyes lazily trailing over you as if she’s debating whether to let you get ready in peace.
she makes her decision quickly: a kiss.
quick and light, pressed against the corner of your mouth before you even have a chance to react.
you try to suppress a smile, startled. “seriously?”
“what?” she grins. “i woke up feeling affectionate.”
“righto, i’ll take it,” you chuckle, pulling your shirt over your head.
she hums, pretending to think. “you should always,” then, with zero hesitation, she leans in again, pressing another slow kiss to your jaw this time, her lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary. “what’s one more?”
your breath hitches, heat crawling up your neck as you attempt to not react. “you’re ridiculous.”
“and yet,” she murmurs, placing one more kiss just beneath your ear, “here you are, letting me do it.”
you shove her lightly, rolling your eyes even as your stomach does stupid flips. “get dressed, we’re leaving soon.”
she stretches her arms out again before finally sitting up, letting out a heavy sigh like getting out of bed is the hardest thing she’s ever had to do.
she glances around your room, eyes scanning the shelves, the desk, the walls decorated with books and scattered notes.
then, her lips twitch into a smirk. “you know, i don’t see a guitar collection anywhere.”
that makes you snort. “that’s because there isn’t one.”
she raises a brow, amusement flickering across her features. “so you lied to get me in your room?”
“maybe,” you chuckle, pulling open your drawer and tossing her a shirt.
“unbelievable,” she catches it effortlessly, inspecting it for a second before tugging it over her head. it’s slightly oversized on her, the hem falling past her waist, but somehow, it still looks better on her than it ever did on you. she smooths it down, then grins. “this is mine now.”
“it’s literally not.”
“you’ll never get it back,” she adds confidently, reaching for her phone on your nightstand.
“that’s theft,” you shake your head, but you don’t argue.
once you’re both somewhat presentable, you tiptoe outside, careful to avoid making too much noise. when you make it to the bathroom, you dig through the cabinet under the sink, finding a spare toothbrush and handing it to her.
she takes it with a small, amused smile, squeezing toothpaste onto the bristles. she brushes her teeth beside you like it’s second nature, like this is something she does every morning — when in reality, it’s completely uncharted territory for both of you.
it should really be mundane. but it isn’t.
it’s oddly intimate, standing there together, bumping elbows slightly, watching her spit out toothpaste before glancing at you with that same sleepy smile.
you try not to overthink it.
but then, just as you’re rinsing your mouth, you hear it and then —
“huh, i fucking knew it.”
you both turn at the same time.
giselle is standing in the doorway, her eyebrows raised, lips quirking up in amusement as she very obviously takes in the situation before her. she tilts her head, looking between the two of you before stepping back, then forward again, like she needs to double-check what she’s seeing.
then, a slow smirk spreads across her face. “so, you two got busy last night, yeah?”
you choke on your own breath.
jimin groans, running a hand over her face. “shut up, aeri.”
the japanese girl’s smirk widens. “cute, really cute.”
“giselle,” you say through gritted teeth, your face burning. “leave.”
“why would i?” she grins, crossing her arms. “can’t a girl say good morning to her friends these days?”
“giselle,” jimin warns, narrowing her eyes.
“fine, fine,” giselle waves a hand, but then she pauses, tilting her head. “but you two do look cute together.”
your entire body heats up. “go away.”
“aw, don’t be shy —”
“giselle.”
she finally laughs, shaking her head as she walks away. “god, ryujin is gonna die when she hears she missed this.”
the girl beside you just sighs, rinsing her toothbrush, still looking far too amused.
before you can say anything, yunjin’s voice echoes from downstairs. “is jimin joining us for breakfast, or what?”
jimin raises an eyebrow, looking at you expectantly. “she can’t,” you answer, giving her a pointed look. “she has to get ready for class. and go see minjeong and ningning.”
and jaewook. you don’t say it, but you both hear it.
her expression flickers, something brief passing over her features, but she only nods. “of course.”
when you both head downstairs, yunjin glances up from the couch, taking in the sight of jimin in your clothes. she grins. “morning.”
she flashes a small, polite smile. “morning, yunjin.”
yunjin nods. “morning, how many episodes did i miss? what year is it?” she pauses, awkwardly looking at each other as the urge to crawl into a hole overwhelms you. then she grins, glancing at you before turning back to jimin. “not bad, y/n.”
you groan, burying your face in your hands. “oh my god.”
“sorry,” she laughs, impressed, “i wasn’t familiar with your game.”
“you don’t have to be,” you mutter, shoving her out of the way so jimin can step past.
giselle perks up from the couch. “i’ll walk her out.”
she raises an eyebrow. “how generous of you.”
“i live to serve,” she winks.
but just before jimin can follow her out of the door, she pauses. then, in front of all of them, she leans in and presses a slow, deliberate kiss against your lips.
your brain short-circuits. is this even real?
it’s quick, but it’s felt. you barely have time to react before she pulls away, smiling at your expression. “see you later, y/n.”
then, she steps out the door, leaving you stunned. the silence in the room lingers.
“jesus,” yunjin mutters, stretching her arms behind her head. “she really likes you.”
you exhale sharply, rubbing a hand down your face as you turn on your heel to the kitchen. “don’t start.”
whatever happened then…was not in your bingo cards for this year. it was meant to be a cruisey one: your final year of law and then freedom. but she came into your life — at the weirdest time.
giselle comes back into the kitchen like she owns the place, sliding into a chair with the kind of satisfaction that only comes from witnessing premium drama unfold in real time. she leans onto the table, eyes flickering between you and yunjin, a smug grin already forming.
“so,” she says, stealing a piece of toast from your plate without even asking, “what the hell is going on? how did we get here? because last time i checked, you hoped it was just going to be dinner and now you have karina barely sneaking out of your room first thing in the morning and we get to watch her kiss you goodbye?”
yunjin, who has been watching you with barely concealed amusement, finally speaks up, lazily twirling a spoon in her cereal. “yeah, i mean — last i checked, you had no interest in anyone.”
you sigh, shoving a spoonful of rice into your mouth, trying to buy yourself time.
the worst part is, they’re right; even you don’t know how you got here. throughout the years, you have managed to avoid the paths of the people that were meant to stay in your life.
“it just…happened,” you mutter, rubbing a hand over your face. “i don’t know. i still don’t know.”
giselle squints. “okay, but how did it happen?”
just as you open your mouth to explain, the front door slams open so aggressively that the walls practically shake. all three of you freeze, heads snapping toward the hallway.
then, in comes ryujin.
she’s out of breath, her backpack barely hanging onto one shoulder, hair slightly messy like she ran all the way here. “what did i miss?”
nobody moves nor they speak.
she scans the room, taking in the sight of giselle, yunjin and you sitting at the table like a panel of judges. she doesn’t waste a second.
she struts into the kitchen, throwing her backpack onto the floor before dramatically dropping into the chair next to giselle. she doesn’t even bother catching her breath.
“i had to leave class early,” ryujin announces, slamming her hands on the table like she’s about to start a press conference. “emergency.”
yunjin raises a brow. “what kind of emergency?”
she looks at you, eyes shining. “your love life.”
you groan, dropping your head onto the table. “oh my god.”
giselle rolls her eyes, sighing like she knew this was going to happen. “fuck, you’re barely passing your classes — you need to keep your priorities in check, girl.”
ryujin shrugs, completely unapologetic. “mate, are you kidding? you never like anyone. then, out of nowhere, you wake up next to the karina? the karina?” she leans back, shaking her head in disbelief. “this is once-in-a-lifetime stuff.”
“it’s not that deep,” you mumble, voice muffled against the table.
oh, it definitely is.
yunjin scoffs, taking a sip of her coffee. “you sneaked her in last night while we were all awake, you sneaky bitch.”
you sit up, glaring. “i hate all of you.”
giselle pats your shoulder like you’re a child throwing a tantrum. “no, you don’t. now spill.”
you exhale heavily, dragging a hand down your face. “it’s…casual.”
yunjin’s expression twists into one of sheer disbelief. “casual? y/n, she kissed you in front of us. that’s not casual. that’s ‘i actually like you and want everyone to know’ behaviour.”
“i didn’t get to see that!” ryujin whines, crossing her arms.
“we’re just being sneaky,” you reason out, picking at your rice. “it’s really complicated.”
giselle hums, shaking her head. “no fucking shit, she has a boyfriend.”
you nod as you heave out a sigh. “yeah. and also just…because it’s karina. this whole thing feels insane.”
yunjin leans forward, resting her chin in her hand. “do you want to stop?”
the question makes your stomach turn.
if you were smarter — if you were thinking logically, rationally — you would say yes; walk away before this turns into something bigger, something you can’t control.
but you don’t want to stop.
“…no,” you admit quietly.
the room goes quiet.
giselle let outs a sigh, but it’s not disapproving. she exchanges a glance with yunjin and ryujin before they all sit up a little straighter.
“alright,” ryujin says, suddenly serious. “then we swear on our lives not to tell anyone.”
yunjin agrees, raising a hand like she’s taking an oath. “not a word.”
giselle crosses her heart. “secrets are safe with us.”
you blink, a little taken aback by how quick they are to support your fucked up wrongdoings. “just like that?”
“just like that,” she confirms. “we’re not gonna step in unless —”
“— unless she stops making you happy,” yunjin finishes.
ryujin points a spoon at you. “the second we see you hurting, we’re jumping in. but for now? it’s your life and we really don’t have a say in it.”
something in your chest loosens, something that had been sitting there since this whole thing started. you didn’t realise how much you needed to hear that. “…thanks.”
she grins, instantly losing all seriousness. “now, tell me everything.”
yunjin smirks, resting her chin in her hand. “starting with who made the first move.”
and just like that, you know you’re never going to hear the end of this. it felt right, but it was so wrong.
so, so wrong.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the next few weeks pass in a haze, slipping through your fingers like something you can’t quite hold onto.
there’s a routine now: one you never expected to have, it feels so natural you don’t even realise how much your life has changed until you stop to think about it.
half of jimin’s time is still spent with jaewook, attending games, going to events, playing the role of the perfect girlfriend.
the other half? it’s spent with you.
she comes over to your dorm more often than not, slipping into your room without a second thought, making herself comfortable in one of your stolen hoodies — the ones she absolutely refuses to return. you go over to hers too, the excuse of just hanging out with the group making it easy, natural, harmless.
ningning and minjeong don’t question it. neither does anyone else.
because in everyone else’s eyes, you’re just friends.
and it makes sense. your group has always been tight-knit. no one thinks twice about the fact that you and jimin are spending more time together.
no one suspects a thing — the only difference is that you have changed.
she brings out a side of you that you never knew existed, a version of yourself that laughs easier, that doesn’t hesitate before speaking, doesn’t feel like she’s just watching life from the sidelines.
jimin has woven herself into your life so effortlessly that sometimes you forget what it was like before.
it’s the small things. the way she always walks slightly closer to you than necessary, bumping shoulders, fingers brushing, like she’s just waiting for an excuse to take your hand.
or the way she remembers your schedule better than you do, reminding you about deadlines and upcoming assignments as if she’s the one in law school.
and the way she’s always, always around.
it’s a monday when she pulls you into the bathroom between classes. you barely have time to react before your back is pressed against the door,
jimin’s hands slipping under your blazer, her lips already on yours before you can even protest.
not that you were going to.
“what the hell —” you start, your voice muffled as she kisses you again, deeper this time, her hands smoothing over your waist, her thumb pressing just right against your ribs.
“missed you,” she murmurs between kisses, her breath warm against your lips, her body pressing flush against yours. “needed a minute.”
your brain short-circuits. “we literally saw each other two hours ago.”
“yeah,” she hums, furrowing her eyebrows slightly, her fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. “but i couldn’t kiss you then, could i?”
your stomach flips.
“you’re silly,” you mutter, but your hands find their way to her hips, holding her close anyway.
“and yet,” she grins, kissing you again, “you’re letting me do this.”
you groan, lifting your head back slightly. “you’re gonna get us caught.”
“then be quiet,” she teases, nipping lightly at your jaw.
she exists in your space so naturally, so effortlessly, that you barely remember what life was like before her.
and at some point, without either of you saying it — she became yours. and you became hers.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the first time you realise how much things have really shifted, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of her car.
the city at night is a completely different world. the streets are quieter…stripped of the usual chaos, replaced by the rhythmic hum of passing cars and the occasional neon sign flickering against the darkness.
jimin’s mercedes glides through the near-empty roads, the soft purr of the engine the only sound between you for a while. the silence isn’t uncomfortable, but there’s something weighty about it — something hanging just beneath the surface.
you shift slightly in your seat, glancing at her as she drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the console.
the smell of food fills the car, warm and rich, making your stomach growl. you peer into the bag resting between you, the takeout container still warm in your hands. the fact that she even thought to stop for dumplings, let alone at your favourite place, is still settling in.
she doesn’t look away from the road, but she smirks slightly. “you said you were craving dumplings, so i got your usual.”
you blink, glancing at her before looking down at the container. “my usual?”
she grind, turning onto a quieter road. “yeah, pork and chive dumplings, extra chilli oil on the side.”
the answer catches you off guard. “how do you even remember that?”
she shrugs, fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel. “you mentioned it once — i remember most of the things you say.”
it’s not a big deal. at least, it shouldn’t be a big deal. but the fact that she paid enough attention to remember something so small, something you barely even thought twice about saying, makes something in your chest tighten.
you don’t respond, just pop open the container, the steam curling into the air and fogging up the plastic lid. the scent alone makes your mouth water, but there’s something almost dangerous about this — something about the way she knows you, how she remembers details most people wouldn’t.
she turns into a small, near-empty parking lot near the han river, the glow of the streetlights stretches across the pavement, casting long shadows. it’s mostly deserted at this hour, save for a few parked cars in the distance and the occasional cyclist passing by.
beyond that, the water stretches out, shimmering under the city lights, its surface a rippling reflection of gold and silver streaks.
jimin shifts the car into park, but neither of you move to get out. instead, she reaches for her own takeout container, leaning back against the headrest, completely at ease.
you watch as she picks up a dumpling with her chopsticks, taking a slow bite, her gaze drifting toward the river.
there’s something about the way she carries herself in these moments — relaxed, unguarded, like she doesn’t have to be karina here.
“so,” she says after a moment, her voice smooth, “tell me something about you that i don’t know.”
the question is simple, but it catches you off guard. you think for a second before shrugging, picking up a dumpling. “both my parents are professors at korea university.”
jimin raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “really?”
“yeah,” you say, dipping your dumpling into the chilli oil before taking a bite. “they’re both academics. my dad’s in political science, my mum’s in literature. they’ve been there for years —practically married to their work.”
she nods her head, chewing slowly as she takes in the information. “that explains a lot.”
you glance at her. “what do you mean?”
she gestures vaguely with her chopsticks. “you’re always so focused. disciplined. like you have to be the best at what you do.”
the observation is so spot-on that it takes you a second to respond. you let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “i guess i’ve just always had high expectations placed on me. they never forced me into law or anything, but…when you grow up around people who thrive in academia, it’s kind of hard not to feel like you have to prove yourself.”
she hums, as if she understands. “so you never even considered doing something else?”
you shake your head. “not really. i like law, love the structure of it. i like knowing that if you work hard enough, if you prepare well enough, you can get the right answers.”
she leans back against her seat, eyes flickering toward the river. “sounds exhausting.”
you exhale, stretching your legs slightly. “it is. but it’s also predictable, and i like predictable.”
jimin doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at the water, her expression unreadable. the lights reflect against her skin, painting soft golden hues along her jawline, her cheekbones sharp yet delicate under the glow.
she looks different like this — less untouchable, more real.
“what about you?” you ask, setting your chopsticks down. “what’s your favourite colour?”
she turns to you, blinking like the question caught her off guard. “my favourite colour?”
“yeah,” you say, watching her. “simple question.”
she chuckles, shaking her head before closing her container. “i wasn’t expecting that after your whole academic backstory.”
you smirk, resting your arm on the console. “not everything has to be deep. sometimes people just want to know random things about you.”
she considers this, her gaze drifting back to the river. “blue,” she finally says. “like the sky right before it gets dark.”
the answer makes you pause, your head tilting slightly. “fitting.”
she glances at you, amusement flickering in her eyes. “what does that mean?”
you shrug. “you’re kind of like that. a little unpredictable, but still…steady. i was half expecting you to say yellow or pink.”
she doesn’t respond right away, just watches you, her chopsticks still hovering above her container. there’s something in the silence; something loaded, but neither of you do anything about it.
the air between you is different here.
there’s no intensity like at dinners in public places. no secrecy like when she sneaks into your dorm. no weight of consequences hanging over your heads.
just two people in a car, eating dumplings in front of the han river, forgetting the rest of the world exists.
for a moment, it feels like something real. something that could be real.
but you both know better than to believe that.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the library is always quieter in the afternoons, tucked away from the rest of the campus chaos. the heavy scent of old books lingers in the air, mixed with the faint aroma of burnt coffee from the café downstairs.
most students are hunched over their laptops, eyes glued to thick textbooks, desperately cramming for midterms. the only sounds are the occasional rustling of pages, the soft clacking of keyboards and the faint hum of the air conditioning (you find it a little annoying).
you’ve always liked studying here. it’s peaceful. a place where nothing exists except the text in front of you.
which is why, when jimin suddenly slides into the seat across from you, you almost drop your pen.
she doesn’t announce herself, doesn’t ask if the seat is taken — just settles in, her presence smooth and effortless, like she’s done this a thousand times before.
your brain takes a second to process. it’s her. sitting across from you. in the library. in broad daylight.
she flips open a thick economics textbook, pulling out a highlighter like this is the most natural thing in the world.
you blink at her. “umm, what are you doing?”
jimin looks up, tilting her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “studying.”
your eyes narrow. “here?”
she smirks, amused at your reaction. “it’s a library, is it not?”
you glance around, suddenly hyper-aware of how public this is. nobody seems to be paying attention — everyone too caught up in their own work…but still, your pulse kicks up a notch.
“karina, we —” you lower your voice, leaning forward slightly. “this is a law library. you’re an econ major.”
she shrugs, uncapping her highlighter. “it’s jimin. and they still have desks,” you stare at her, trying to figure out what game she’s playing. she meets your gaze, perfectly calm. “do you want me to leave?”
the question catches you off guard. you open your mouth, ready to say yes, because this is so stupid— but nothing comes out.
because, truthfully, you don’t want her to.
you sigh, rubbing your temples. “fine. stay. but don’t be weird.”
she chuckles under her breath, but she doesn’t argue. instead, she leans back in her chair, scanning your notes like she’s trying to figure out what you’re working on.
you try to ignore her, refocusing on your textbook, but it’s impossible not to notice the little things. the way her knee occasionally brushes against yours under the table, the way she twirls her pen absentmindedly when she’s thinking, the way she tilts her head slightly when she reads, her lips parted just enough to show a glimpse of her teeth.
you shake your head, exhaling sharply. focus.
but then, she speaks again. “you always study alone?”
you glance at her, brows furrowing. “yeah. why?”
she hums, resting her chin in her hand. “just seems…lonely.”
you scoff. “i like studying alone. it’s peaceful.”
she raises an eyebrow. “you like being alone in general, don’t you?”
you tap your pen against the table. “what’s your point?”
she shrugs, twirling her highlighter between her fingers. “just that it’s interesting.”
“what is?”
she leans forward slightly, and for some reason, it makes your breath catch. “that you act like you don’t want people around, but you let me sit here.”
your fingers tighten around your pen. “you didn’t exactly ask.”
jimin smiles, tilting her head. “but you didn’t tell me to leave. because you like me.”
you hate that she’s right as you huff, shifting in your seat, determined to focus. “are you actually gonna study or are you just here to mess with me?”
she sighs, stretching her arms above her head before finally looking at her book. “fine, fine. i’ll be good.”
you exhale in relief, leaning back over your notes. for a while, it’s quiet again — just the soft scratch of pen on paper, the occasional turn of a page.
then, completely out of nowhere, jimin slides a highlighter toward you.
you look up. “what?”
“your notes are messy.”
you gape at her. “excuse me?”
she gestures at your page. “you don’t highlight key points. you just write a bunch of stuff down and hope you remember it.”
“that’s literally how studying works.”
she shakes her head. “no, it’s inefficient. here.” she leans in, taking your pen from your hand before you can protest. god, she smells good. “this —” she points to a sentence in your textbook, underlining it. “— is important. this —” she crosses out another part. “— is just fluff. bullshit.”
you stare at her, both annoyed and slightly impressed. “you’re so bossy.”
“i’m efficient,” she corrects.
you roll your eyes, snatching your pen back. “next time, ask before you start defacing my work.”
she throws her head back and laughs. “noted.”
the rest of the study session goes like this — light, teasing, a slow unraveling of something normal. there’s no sneaking around, no hushed conversations behind closed doors. just the two of you, sitting across from each other, pretending this is something casual.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the store is quiet this afternoon, except for the occasional students coming in to either look pretty for taehyung or ask you for notes in a class you were in centuries ago.
the bell above the door hasn’t rung in nearly an hour. through the large windows, golden leaves drift lazily from the trees lining the street, some getting caught in the light breeze before settling onto the pavement.
you lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching as taehyung stretches out on the worn-out leather couch near the entrance. he’s making a half-hearted attempt to sort through a box of new arrivals, but mostly, he just looks like he’s about to fall asleep.
“we should just close early,” he mutters, resting his head against the back of the couch. “no one’s coming in.”
“we can’t just close because we feel like it,” you say, flipping idly through the pages of an old magazine.
not like it matters, anyway, he owns the store after all. he has been at yonsei for what feels like a lifetime, and if you ask him, he’ll probably say it’s because he likes the place.
it’s not about the degree — he’s not in any rush to graduate, not when life has already been carved out for him in ways most people can only dream of. his family name carries weight, sitting on a throne like jimin’s, built on legacy and generational wealth that ensures he never has to worry about things like career paths or financial security.
taehyung groans. “but what if no one does come? we’ll have wasted an entire afternoon doing nothing. i could be with my girlfriend!”
“or your classes,” you roll your eyes, shaking your head at him.
but unlike her, who thrives under the weight of responsibility, he shrugs it off like an ill-fitting coat. he’s spent years repeating the same classes, coasting through his courses with just enough effort to avoid expulsion, and somehow; yonsei is his playground, a place where he has mastered the art of charming professors into leniency and convincing administration that he will graduate —eventually.
“you say that like you’ve been working this whole time.”
he smirks, eyes still closed. “hey, i folded, like, three sweaters.”
you should find it frustrating, the way he doesn’t seem to take anything seriously, the way he moves through life with an effortless grace that only people like him can afford. but you don’t.
because taehyung, for all his privilege, for all the ways he could be insufferable, is genuine.
he listens when you talk, buys you coffee without you asking and always pays without letting you argue about it. he’s self-aware in a way that makes him impossible to hate, carrying himself with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how ridiculous his life is but refuses to let it define him.
before you can respond, he suddenly sits up, stretching his arms over his head. “by the way, did you see the match last week? yonsei vs snu?”
“do you know the nerd you’re talking to?” you glance at him, shaking your head. “which one exactly?”
“football,” he whistles low, as if it’s obvious. “jaewook, as much as i hate that prick, completely destroyed snu’s offense. we actually have a shot at nationals this year.”
you hum noncommittally, only half interested as soon as you hear her boyfriend’s name. “that good, huh?”
“yeah,” he nods, leaning back in his chair. “i mean, he’s always been solid, but this season? he’s on another level. all the scouts have their eyes on him. guy’s practically untouchable.”
you shift slightly, the word untouchable sitting uncomfortably in your chest. “right.”
“and,” he continues, tilting his head. “he’s dating karina. so, like, the guy brags that he has everything.”
your stomach twists. “yeah,” you mutter, forcing yourself to sound neutral. “guess he does.”
taehyung watches you for a second, his gaze slightly narrowed, like he’s assessing something. “you and karina seem pretty close,” he comments casually, tossing the pen onto the counter. “she was here last week, wasn’t she?”
nearly everyday.
your grip tightens slightly around your phone, but you keep your expression carefully blank. “yeah, she stops by sometimes. giselle and the girls come in a lot, so it’s not weird.”
he hums, nodding. “but you guys, like…hang out outside of that?”
“not really,” you lie smoothly, shrugging. “we’re just in the same friend group. i don’t really know her like that.”
he seems satisfied with that answer, stretching his arms above his head before glancing toward the entrance. “makes sense,” he adds. “still, she’s kinda different from the type of people you usually hang with. bit more…” he pauses, thinking. “high profile.”
you scoff lightly, rolling your eyes. “she’s just a person, v.”
“a really amazing person according to jennie,” he corrects, grinning. “but yeah, sure, just a person.”
before you can figure out how to respond, the bell above the door chimes. the sound makes you jolt slightly, and then, as if the universe has a sick sense of humour, they walk in.
he perks up, pushing himself off the counter. “speak of the devil.”
your stomach drops.
jimin’s gaze flickers to taehyung briefly before landing on you, lingering just a fraction too long before she offers a casual smile. “hey.”
you nod back, trying to keep your expression neutral. “hey.”
giselle spots you, a slow grin spreading across her face as she nudges minjeong. “oh, look who it is,” she sing-songs, making a beeline toward the counter.
you groan internally, already regretting every decision that led to this moment. “please don’t start.”
“who, us?” giselle feigns innocence, leaning against the counter. “we just came to shop.”
“yeah,” minjeong adds, pretending to examine a rack of clothes. “completely innocent intentions.”
meanwhile, ningning wanders over to taehyung, greeting him with a casual, “hey, how’s jennie?”
taehyung’s expression softens immediately at the sound of his girlfriend’s name, his usual laziness replaced with a fond smile. “she’s good. stressed over some campaign stuff, but that’s nothing new.”
as they all fall into conversation, you suddenly become aware of a presence much closer to you.
jimin.
she steps up to the counter, her gaze calm, unreadable. unlike the others, she doesn’t immediately start teasing you. instead, she simply says, “can you help me with sizes?”
taehyung raises an eyebrow slightly but doesn’t question it, simply gesturing toward the fitting rooms. “go for it. y/n’s got it.”
you hesitate for half a second before nodding. “sure.”
as you follow her toward the back of the store, your pulse kicks up a notch. you can feel giselle and minjeong’s eyes on you, their amusement practically radiating, but you ignore them.
when you step inside, jimin shuts the door. then, without hesitation, she locks it.
before you can even process what’s happening, she’s on you, pressing you against the wall, her lips crashing against yours.
the kiss is urgent, heated — like she’s been starving for this all day. her hands slide up your sides, fingers slipping under your shirt, her body flush against yours, warm and soft and too much all at once.
you let out a small sound of surprise before melting into her, your hands instinctively finding her waist, gripping her tighter.
this isn’t new, but somehow, every time she touches you, it still feels like the first time.
she pulls back just enough to look at you, her breath warm against your lips. “you have no idea how much i wanted to do this the second i saw you.”
your head is spinning, heart racing in your chest.
“jesus, karina —“ you begin, but she silences you with another kiss, slower this time; gentler.
“jimin,” she corrects softly against your lips, her fingers tightening their grip on your shirt. “use my name when we’re alone.”
your stomach does another flip, heat curling low in your spine. “jimin,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.
she smiles, leaning in again, her lips brushing yours just enough to make you dizzy. “good girl.”
you don’t think. you just pull her back in.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
bar code, the closest thing to a proper pub near yonsei’s campus, is packed for a wednesday night. the comforting scent of beer and fried snacks lingers in the air; the perfect place where students come to unwind, gossip and waste time before the real world catches up to them.
for you, this is a rare free evening to sit back, relax and listen to giselle and minjeong talk about things that have nothing to do with you. they’re deep in conversation, voices animated as they bounce off each other, the drinks in their hands only making them more expressive.
“i swear to god, this campus is a breeding ground for scandals,” giselle declares, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, eyes sparkling with the kind of excitement that only gossip can bring.
minjeong nods enthusiastically, already invested. “what is it this time?”
the japanese girl takes a sip of her drink before lowering her voice just enough to make it sound conspiratorial. “that philosophy professor — you know, the one who always wears those ugly tweed jackets?”
minjeong squints, thinking. “the one that makes students write for exams instead of multiple choice?”
“yes, him,” giselle leans in further. “he got caught dating a student. twenty years old.”
she lets out a scandalised gasp, hand flying to her chest. “jesus christ. is he married?”
minjeong shakes her head, taking a long sip of her drink before muttering, “some men are actually insane.”
you sit back, barely paying attention, letting their voices blur into the background. your mind drifts— again. it’s been happening a lot lately. you’ll be in the middle of something normal, something routine and then, without warning, she’ll slip into your thoughts.
jimin.
it’s not even one specific memory. it’s everything: the way she tilts her head when she listens, the way she smirks when she knows she has you cornered, the way she feels against you when she kisses you, like she’s trying to memorise every second of it.
this is dangerous. you shake your head, gripping your glass a little tighter.
minjeong nudges your arm suddenly. “y/n, you’re being suspiciously quiet.”
you blink, snapping back to the present. “huh?”
giselle eyes you, taking another sip of her drink. “you’re zoning out again.”
“no, i’m not.”
she smirks. “yeah, you are. you got that dumb little look on your face.”
“i do not —”
“oh my god, look who just walked in.”
you don’t have to ask who because before you can even prepare yourself, minjeong’s arm shoots up, waving enthusiastically.
“karina!”
your stomach plummets as you slightly turn around.
her and jaewook are standing at the entrance, fingers loosely interlocked, looking like something straight out of a university brochure — perfect, polished, untouchable.
“y/n, you are about to meet the most insufferable man on the planet,” giselle whispers with a smile. “he’s a type A asshole.”
he barely reacts to minjeong’s wave, but jimin’s eyes flicker towards your table. she hesitates for a fraction of a second, so quick that anyone else would miss it, before she tugs him forward, making her way over.
you sit up straighter, heart hammering in your chest. they stop in front of your booth, and for the first time, you’re face to face with him.
she looks at you first. then, as if remembering why she’s here, she turns slightly, her tone smooth, polite. “jaewook, this is y/n.”
jaewook barely glances at you or acknowledge giselle and minjeong at all. his focus is entirely on his girlfriend, like nothing outside of her even exists.
“hey,” you greet, unsure if you’re supposed to shake his hand or just nod.
he gives you the barest nod in return, his grip tightening slightly around her hand. “yeah, nice to meet you,” his voice is flat, uninterested, like he’s already done with this conversation.
there’s nothing polite about it, nothing warm or even remotely friendly. it’s an obligatory greeting, nothing more.
the indifference in his voice grates against your nerves in a way you weren’t expecting.
giselle shifts beside you, crossing her arms. “great chat, dickhead,” she mutters under her breath.
jimin glances at you, something unreadable flickering in her expression. you look away first, reaching for your drink just to have something to do.
minjeong, who seems to be enjoying the tension, tilts her head at jaewook. “you know, it’s funny. back when you were trying to get karina’s attention, you were way more social with us. what happened?”
jaewook finally reacts — just slightly — his jaw tightening. he doesn’t say anything, but his fingers twitch against her’s.
you don’t say anything right away, just meet his gaze, letting the silence stretch a little longer than necessary. he looks at you and you look right back.
the tension is subtle but sharp, something unspoken brewing just beneath the surface. it’s not hostility, but it’s not nothing, either.
he doesn’t seem to care enough to hold eye contact for long. he turns back to her, his grip on her hand tightening slightly, fingers shifting in a way that seems almost possessive.
she shifts beside him, exhaling softly. “we’re gonna grab a table,” she breaks the tension, looking at you for half a second too long.
you nod stiffly before looking down at your palms…trying to look nonchalant. and almost failing. “righto, see you.”
they turn away, heading towards the bar.
as soon as they’re out of earshot, giselle lets out a low whistle. “well, that was awkward as hell.”
you release a breath you didn’t realise you were holding.
“he’s always like that,” minjeong reassures, nudging your foot under the table. “don’t let him get into your head.”
“yeah,” giselle adds, swirling the last of her drink. “but i swear he was different when he was chasing her. like, really trying.”
you nod absently, still feeling the weight of jimin’s gaze. when you look up, you don’t expect her to be looking back. but she is. across the room, past the dim lights and crowded tables, her eyes meet yours.
jaewook is saying something to her, but she’s not listening. she’s looking at you. before you can even react, someone else slides into the booth beside you.
“y/n, hey,” you turn towards the voice, and suddenly, sana is there. “giselle, minjeong — it’s nice seeing you all here!”
she’s a few years older, a familiar face around campus — someone who floats between social circles effortlessly, always knowing someone everywhere she goes. her red-orange hair is styled loose, a delicate gold necklace catching the light against her collarbone.
she’s beautiful in a way that feels both effortless and deliberate.
her lips curve into a knowing smile when giselle and minjeong acknowledge her with their friendliness. “haven’t seen you in forever, specially you, y/n.”
your head is still spinning from the last five minutes, but you force yourself to focus. “yeah, it’s been a while.”
she tilts her head, scanning you with a kind of playful curiosity. “you look good. i hear law’s treating you well?”
giselle leans against the booth, smirking behind her glass. meanwhile, minjeong glances between you, sana and jimin like she’s already connecting the dots.
“it’s killing me, actually,” you admit, forcing a laugh as you take another sip of your strawberry-flavoured cocktail. “buried in deadlines — you would know.”
sana hums, eyes glinting. “shame. maybe i can help with that…sometime soon?”
the way she says it is light, teasing. but across the room, jimin’s expression shifts. jaewook leans in, murmuring something into her ear, laughing, but she doesn’t react.
she isn’t listening. her attention is still fixed on you. on the way sana’s arm rests casually against the back of the booth.
on the way you aren’t moving away like you’ve been here before.
the air between you thickens, something unspoken pressing down on your chest. you should break eye contact.
you should.
but you don’t.
the shift in the air is palpable. sana’s presence, smooth and unbothered, commands attention without even trying.
minjeong, usually unfazed by most things, blinks at sana like she’s just walked straight out of a movie. giselle, who thrives on knowing everyone’s business, seems genuinely intrigued, swirling the last of her drink in her glass as she watches the exchange unfold.
sana leans in slightly, her fingers tracing the rim of her drink, her nails neatly manicured and painted a soft pink. she’s close enough that you can catch the faint scent of her perfume — something light, floral, expensive.
“so, y/n,” she begins, voice low, smooth, confident. “you’ve been hiding from me, huh?”
not now, please, you plead internally.
leaning back against the chair, you let out a small, dry laugh. “i’ve been studying, sana — you should know that…from previous…moments.”
because she should. when you rejected her a few years back, your excuse was law, that you wanted to put that first. and how you simply just liked sleeping with her; nothing more.
she hums thoughtfully, resting her chin on her hand. “shame. a girl like you deserves some fun,” her voice dips slightly, just enough to make giselle nudge minjeong under the table. “we could start over again, you know, the way you want it this time.”
sana hasn’t changed much — still confidently sexy as ever and she’s bold enough to say this in front of your friends.
before you can even process what’s happening, her hand casually slips onto your knee under the table, her fingers light but firm, like she’s testing the waters.
your brain stutters, not entirely sure how to react. you’re not opposed to it; sana is gorgeous and has always had this way of making people feel like they’re the most interesting person in the room.
and you have history.
but it’s not her you’ve been thinking about all night. across the bar, jimin’s eyes haven’t left you.
she’s still seated with jaewook, but she’s no longer paying attention to him, her entire focus fixed on the interaction unfolding at your table. her expression is unreadable, but the sharpness in her gaze is unmistakable.
jaewook is speaking to her, gesturing lazily with his drink, but she doesn’t react, doesn’t even glance at him.
she’s carefully watching sana’s hand on your knee.
giselle, sensing the shift in energy, decides to add fuel to the fire. “so sana,” she drawls, smirking as she leans forward, “what exactly brings you to our table tonight? surely, you’ve got other people waiting to be graced with your presence.”
sana doesn’t even blink, her attention still locked onto you. “maybe i just wanted to catch up with y/n. we go way back, don’t we?”
you feel the weight of her stare intensify.
minjeong, clearly entertained, rests her chin on her hand. “oh, i see; i love old friends.”
the girl beside you smirks, finally looking away from you just long enough to flash minjeong a teasing glance. “oh, we were never just friends.”
giselle lets out a low whistle. “damn. is that right, y/n?”
you exhale through your nose, shaking your head. “sana, you love exaggerating.”
“do i?” she murmurs, squeezing your knee slightly before leaning dangerously close to your lips while reaching for her drink. “my bed has been missing you.”
and that’s the last straw.
there’s movement from across the room and in a matter of seconds, jimin is pushing away from her table, standing up. her boyfriend barely reacts, glancing up at her with mild confusion but she doesn’t offer him an explanation.
“i’ll be right back,” she mutters to jaewook, already walking toward your table before he can even respond.
she moves without hesitation, making her way across the bar, her steps measured and her posture controlled. giselle notices first, her lips curling at the edges as she nudges minjeong subtly.
“oh, this is about to get interesting,” minjeong mutters under her breath.
you feel her before you see her — before she even reaches, her presence already shifting the air around you.
she looks pissed off.
dangerous.
there’s something in this moment, something weighty and unspoken, something that tells you this — whatever the hell it is between you and her— has just reached a breaking point.
then, she’s here.
jimin stops just beside you, her hand resting against the edge of the table, fingers tapping lightly against the wood. her expression remains composed, but the sharpness in her gaze is impossible to miss.
“hey,” she greets smoothly, her eyes flicking to sana just long enough to be pointed.
sana, to her credit, doesn’t look the least bit intimidated. in fact, she just moves back slightly, swirling her drink in her hand as she studies jimin with mild interest.
“karina,” she greets, lips curling in amusement as if they’re old friends. “long time no see.”
her lips press into something that might be called a smile, but there’s no real amusement behind it. her eyes flick to sana’s hand, still resting on your knee, then slowly up to meet yours.
you swallow.
“i didn’t realise you were friends with y/n,” jimin begins, her voice smooth but laced with something sharper underneath.
sana, either oblivious or completely enjoying herself, tilts her head, squeezing your knee lightly before finally pulling away.
“we go way back,” she muses, taking a sip of her drink.
giselle and minjeong exchange a glance, as if they feel the tension thickening between the two of them.
jimin hums, her fingers tapping lightly against the table’s edge. “is that right?”
you can feel her staring at you, but you don’t know what to say.
sana, ever the smooth talker, just grins, unfazed. “it’s been a while since we caught up, though. too long, honestly.”
the other girl doesn’t smile. “well,” she says, tone light but unreadable. “it looks like you’re making up for lost time.”
you don’t miss the way sana’s lips twitch in amusement, like she knows exactly what’s happening here.
“yeah,” she agrees, tapping her fingers against her glass. “y/n’s always been good company to me.”
the way she says it isn’t outright teasing, but it lingers, something playful but knowing, like she’s fully aware of what’s happening here.
jimin’s gaze lingers on you for half a second too long before she finally shifts, tilting her head slightly.
“jaewook and i were just about to leave,” she adds, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jeans, casual but still composed. “y/n, you want me to drop you off?”
it’s not really a question — it was more of a demand.
giselle coughs, poorly hiding a grin behind her hand. minjeong nudges your foot under the table, subtly egging you on.
sana, for the first time, looks slightly amused. “oh? but didn’t you just two walk in here?”
jimin clenches her jaw; as if she knew sana was challenging her. “yeah, but he’s being an ass about them running out of chicken.”
“oh no,” giselle clicks her tongue, smiling at you. “minjeong and i are getting drunk, so yeah, maybe it’d be good for you to catch a lift with them because god knows you’ll be rushing me to leave.”
you inhale, then exhale, before nodding slowly. “yeah, okay, as long as your boyfriend’s okay with that.“
sana just hums, finishing the last sip of her drink before standing up. “another time, then,” she flashes a grin, reaching out to tap her fingers lightly under your chin. “don’t keep me waiting too long, bunny.”
there is nothing else that you want other than the ground to swallow you whole right now and then.
bunny? what the fuck.
jimin doesn’t react, but her grip on her keys tightens.
you briefly look at giselle and minjeong, who both look like they’re about to explode with something, but you don’t give them the satisfaction. instead, you follow her, feeling her presence beside you as you step away from the booth, toward the exit. on the other hand, she’s gesturing for jaewook to come.
the moment the door swings shut behind you, the cool night air hits your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating from her.
she doesn’t look at you right away, doesn’t say a word as you walk toward her car.
but the tension?
it’s buzzing.
the atmosphere inside the car is thick with unspoken tension. the low hum of the engine is the only sound for a while, save for the occasional click of the indicator and the distant murmur of traffic outside. the soft glow of the dashboard casts an eerie light over the cabin, highlighting the sharp angles of jaewook’s jaw as he sits in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
she sits behind the wheel, hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tight, knuckles pale under the dim glow of the dashboard. you’re in the backseat, staring out the window, your own body wound tight, stomach twisting with something you don’t want to name.
“so, you just decided to leave because you weren’t feeling the menu?” jaewook’s voice slices through the silence like a blade, sharp and accusatory.
jimin exhales through her nose, her tone measured but edged with something simmering just beneath the surface. “you said you were hungry for good food.”
“yeah,” he scoffs, shifting in his seat. “i was hungry. and we were already somewhere. but you were the one who wanted to leave.”
her grip on the wheel tightens for just a fraction of a second before she exhales, slow and measured. “if you wanted to stay so badly, i can turn around and drop you off.”
most people were right: he is an ass.
your eyes flicker toward the rearview mirror, catching the way her jaw tightens, the way her fingers tap against the wheel — a subtle but clear warning.
she means it.
the car slows slightly as she moves toward the next exit. jaewook huffs out a breath, defeated, rolling his eyes as he slumps back against the seat. “whatever…just keep driving; you could’ve at least let me finish my beer.”
you press your lips together, inhaling slowly through your nose, trying to ignore the way your body feels wired, like every nerve is on edge. the urge to speak up for her is getting stronger by the second, but you know you shouldn’t.
it’s not your place to.
he lets the silence settle for a moment before shifting in his seat, twisting slightly so he can look back at you.
“law, huh?” the question is so offhand that for a second, it doesn’t register. then it does.
your shoulders tense immediately, something hot flashing through you — not just irritation, but the kind of simmering anger that comes when someone speaks about something important to you with complete indifference.
you narrow your eyes, forcing yourself to stay calm. “yes, law.”
jaewook hums, his gaze assessing, like he’s already made up his mind about you before you’ve even spoken. “man, you law students must be miserable.”
your fingers tighten around your knee, pulse spiking. “excuse me?”
he laughs under his breath, shaking his head like this is a joke to him. “every time i see one of you, you’re either buried in books or complaining about how hard your life is. it’s kind of pathetic, honestly.”
you blink, stunned for half a second before the anger really settles in, curling hot and sharp in your chest.
your irritation spikes so fast you barely think before responding. “yeah, because memorising constitutional law is totally the same as standing waiting for a ball to come at you.”
jimin exhales sharply through her nose, but she doesn’t interrupt.
he scoffs, shifting in his seat. “standing around waiting for a ball to come is what pays.”
your jaw tightens, anger twisting in your gut. “right. and when you inevitably tear your ACL or age out of the sport before thirty, who do you think handles your contracts? or makes sure your name gets cleared when some girl accuses you of doing something in a club you don’t remember?”
silence. his smirk falters, just slightly.
you press on. “but sure,” you continue on, tilting your head, voice dripping with sarcasm. “tell me again how you athletes have it all figured out.”
jaewook breathes, shaking his head. “oh, come on. it’s not like you’re in court defending murder cases. half of you just end up working for some rich guy, writing contracts no one bothers to read.”
your nails dig into your palm, irritation bubbling over. “and half of you end up washed up by thirty, wondering why you never learned a skill that didn’t involve your legs.”
the tension in the car spikes. his shoulders go rigid, head snapping toward you with an incredulous glare.
jimin, finally reaching her limit, steps in.
“okay, enough,” she cuts off, her voice sharper now, firmer. her grip on the wheel doesn’t loosen, but there’s something warning in her tone. “you just met, so maybe don’t act like you know each other.”
his jaw flexes, a vein ticking in his temple. jaewook doesn’t even look at her; doesn’t acknowledge her.
he’s still looking at you.
and then, just when you think the conversation is over, he leans back against the seat, his gaze flickering to the rearview mirror.
“but speaking of things i do know,” he says, tone shifting into something more amused, something mean, “i heard about you and sana…back in the day.”
your breath catches, stomach twisting into a knot.
her grip on the wheel tightens so fast you swear you hear the faint creak of leather.
you force yourself to stay calm. “what’s your point?”
he taps his fingers idly against his knee, clearly enjoying this. “that was a thing, right? you two used to — what? fuck buddies? pump and dump scenario?”
jimin doesn’t speak. doesn’t breathe.
“and you’re fucking disgusting to speak to in that manner. what’s your point?”
he shrugs, too casual. “no point. just interesting. didn’t peg you as the type.”
one swing and it’s all over.
your pulse pounds in your ears, that familiar frustration creeping in — the assumption. the way people love to put you in a box, to make opinions about you without knowing a single thing.
“you don’t even know me,” your jaw clenches, voice low, clipped, the anger barely contained. “would you like to know something else about me?”
he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “sure, let’s fucking hear it.”
“i have a red belt in brazilian jiu jitsu and can compete at a professional level,” you say loud and clear; like a warning.
he finally goes silent. for the first time all night, he doesn’t have a comeback.
the weight of the moment settles, pressing thickly into the space between you. jimin heaves out a sigh, her patience gone.
without another word, she takes the next exit. it’s quiet for next five minutes as you begin to understand why nearly everyone you have met speaks badly of the guy. he’s everything you have never wanted to be.
how she ended up with him for this long, you don’t know.
as you quietly watch from the window, you take the familiar sight in. it’s not long before she’s pulling into the bar’s parking lot, the car slowing to a firm, deliberate stop.
he blinks, frowning. “what —”
she turns to him, voice cold. “get the fuck out; your drunk ass better not pull that shit you just did on my friends again.”
he scoffs, letting out a dry laugh. “seriously?”
jimin doesn’t even blink. “yes.”
for a second, it looks like he’s about to argue. like he wants to say something else, one final jab. but then he groans out harshly, mutters something under his breath and yanks the door open.
before stepping out, he pauses, glancing between the two of you — disbelief written all over his face.
and jimin doesn’t look back at him because she is already looking at you. and then, in a voice that’s so deliberately pointed, she demands: “y/n, move to the front.”
jaewook’s expression flickers. it’s subtle, but it’s there.
she doesn’t even acknowledge whatever silent message he’s sending. she just keeps her gaze locked onto you, completely unaffected…waiting.
jaewook shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “whatever, i love you,” he slams the door behind him, stalking back toward the bar.
the moment the door shuts, jimin lets out a long breath, fingers flexing against the steering wheel.
silence.
then, finally, she tilts her head toward the empty passenger seat. “come on, baby,” she asks, voice quieter now. “move up.”
you don’t hesitate.
the air inside the car is suffocating, thick with something neither of you have the energy to name. the silence stretching long enough to become unbearable; her tense profile, a side you’ve never seen, are too obvious too tell: knuckles taut and jaw clenched, the only signs of how tightly she’s holding back.
you heave out a sigh, breaking the quiet first. “i’m sorry if i came across as mean to him,” the words come out softer than you mean them to, like they’re not entirely yours.
jimin doesn’t react at first. her eyes stay on the road, her expression unreadable in the dim glow of the dashboard. when she finally speaks, it isn’t what you expect.
“i don’t care about that.” her voice is steady, almost dismissive, like jaewook is nothing more than a passing inconvenience.
but then she breathes sharply and her tone shifts, the weight of something else creeping into her words. “but sana.”
the name lingers between you, thick with meaning. your stomach twists at the memory of her.
-
it started two years ago, in the way these things always do: late nights and stolen glances that lingered just a second too long. you had met sana through taehyung, a familiar face that became something more when one drunken night turned into a kiss (surprise), which turned into a habit, which turned into an arrangement that neither of you spoke about.
she was older, a few years ahead of you at yonsei, already well into her final year when you first met.
but the problem was, you weren’t looking for more.
she was.
for a while, she pretended she wasn’t. she played along with your rules, kept things light, acted like she was fine with being just another late-night call, another secret to tuck away in the spaces between everything else.
but sana was never meant to be someone’s almost.
the night it ended, she had shown up at your door, not drunk, not tipsy, but tired. tired of waiting, tired of pretending she didn’t want more. she had leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
“so what am i to you?” she asked, her voice softer than usual, missing its usual teasing edge.
you had hesitated and that had been answer enough.
she nodded, exhaling slowly, then laughed —short, dry, not really amused at all. “figured,” then, without another word, she turned and left.
after that, she didn’t look at you the same. still flirty, still playful when you saw each other, but there was a distance now, something unspoken between you that neither of you ever addressed.
-
“are you going to say something?” jimin’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, her fingers tighten around the wheel just slightly; the tension in her body coiling like a wire pulled too tight.
“what about her?” your voice is even, controlled, though the way she’s looking at you — sharp, questioning, jealous — makes it hard to breathe.
she doesn’t answer right away. she flicks on the indicator, switching lanes with a little too much force, like she needs something to do with her hands — something to focus on other than whatever’s burning in her chest.
“we used to sleep with each other,” you begin carefully, watching for her reaction. “a long time ago. it wasn’t serious —“
she cuts you off with a laugh, but it’s a sound devoid of humour; bitter and sharp. “really? didn’t seem that way back there. she was completely eye fucking you.”
sana’s lingering touch flashes in your mind, the way she rested her hand on your knee, the way her voice curled around your name like she still had a right to it.
jimin saw it. she felt it.
“she’s always like that,” you murmur, half-expecting her to drop it. “look, she wanted more from me, things ended because i didn’t want a relationship.”
she doesn’t drop it.
her fingers drum against the wheel once, twice, before she shakes her head. “so what?” she presses, her tone a little too casual, too controlled. “she just gets to put her hands all over you because that’s just how she is? because she still wants more of you?”
something in your chest tightens.
the lines between you and jimin have always been blurred, but this…this feels like the walls are cracking and something irreversible is spilling out between the cracks.
you sit up slightly, tilting your head toward her. “why do you even care? you have a boyfriend and i am single. whatever i do, whatever the people around me do…shouldn’t be so much of your business.”
she exhales in frustration as she runs her fingers through her hair, the muscle in her jaw tightening. her silence tells you more than words ever could.
“i thought this was casual,” you mumble nervously, looking down at your lap.
the second the words leave your mouth, something in her breaks.
she lets out a hollow, disbelieving laugh, shaking her head as she finally snaps. “there’s nothing fucking casual about us, y/n, what the fuck do you mean casual?”
the words hit like a slap.
her voice is raw, edged with something she’s been biting back for far too long. she grips the wheel so tightly her knuckles go white, frustration spilling over the edges of her carefully constructed composure.
“i don’t want to sit across the room watching some girl put her hands on you,” she continues, voice rising slightly, barely able to contain the emotion pushing to the surface. “i don’t want to pretend like i don’t care when i do. i don’t want to act like it doesn’t fucking bother me when i know exactly what she wants from you.”
her words land with the weight of a confession, sharp and heavy, tearing through the silence between you.
then, slowly, the realisation hits you. she doesn’t just like you, doesn’t just want you when it’s convenient, when it’s easy. she wants you in the way that makes her angry, in the way that makes her lose control of the perfect composure she always carries.
your breath catches, your heartbeat pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears.
she presses on, exhaling harshly as she shakes her head. “you don’t get it,” she says, voice thick with frustration. “you don’t understand what it’s like to be you.”
your brows knit together. “what the hell does that mean?”
her grip on the wheel tightens before she finally pulls over, the car rolling to a slow stop in front of an empty lot on the side of the road. the air is thick, charged, her chest rising and falling with the weight of what she’s about to say.
“every girl at yonsei wants you,” the words come out fast, almost desperate, like she’s been holding them in for too long. “do you even hear the things they say about you? do you know what it’s like to watch them talk about you like you’re some fucking prize?” she turns toward you now, her gaze locked onto yours, something raw behind her eyes. “to know that i have to sit back and pretend i don’t care when all i want is to kiss you in front of them?”
the confession lands between you like a fire set to dry kindling.
you stop breathing for a monent, fingers tightening against your thigh as the weight of her words crashes over you.
this isn’t a game anymore.
because jesus christ, she sounds possessive. territorial, even. she hates the idea of anyone else getting a piece of you, she wants you all to herself.
but the sick thing is, it’s exactly what you want to hear — you feel the same way.
you don’t want to admit it, don’t want to say it out loud, but the moments you see jaewook with her, the moment you hear her voice soften for him, something ugly blooms in your chest.
something bitter and sour and aching.
jimin swallows hard, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “i like you,” her hands flex against the wheel, her entire body tense with restraint. “i like you and i don’t know how to stop it.”
you don’t realise you’re holding your breath until your chest starts to ache.
she fucking likes you.
it shouldn’t be surprising — not after everything, not after all the stolen moments, the lingering touches, the way she looks at you like she’s memorising every detail.
but hearing her say it out loud — this…it feels like stepping off the edge of something unknown, too big to name.
your voice is quiet when you finally speak. “then be with me.”
she laughs, but it’s not happy. it’s broken, helpless, like she already knows how this ends.
“it’s not that simple,” she murmurs, shaking her head. the words sting more than they should.
your throat feels tight. “why not?”
she turns away, staring at the road ahead like she’s seeing something neither of you can stop.
“because everyone expects me to marry him right at the end…and i don’t know whether i love him or i’m only tolerating him.”
the words land like a gut punch. your fingers curl into fists, your mind struggling to catch up with what she’s just said.
jimin exhales, her voice barely above a whisper now. “we’re the golden couple,” she adds, her tone laced with resentment. “the perfect pair. the ones who have it all figured out,” she glances at you, her eyes filled with something unreadable. “except i don’t even know if i still want him.”
the admission sends something sharp through your chest. “then leave, jimin,” you suggest, voice firmer now.
she shakes her head. “i told you it’s not easy.”
your patience thins, frustration laced in your tone. “be honest with me this time: why not?”
“because everyone is watching,” she admits, voice raw. “our families, our friends, everyone— they expect it,” she turns toward you, her gaze burning into yours. “and i don’t know how to break something that’s already been decided for me.”
the weight of it all settles between you, suffocating.
but when she speaks again, her voice is softer, more vulnerable. “but the only thing i do know,” she murmurs. “is that i want you — and i want to be yours…even if we have to keep it a secret for now.”
something inside you snaps. you don’t know who moves first — if it’s you, if it’s her, if it even matters.
one second, the space between you is unbearable, and the next, she’s pulling you in, crashing her lips against yours in a way that feels desperate, helpless, like she’s memorising you before the world can take you away.
NOW PLAYING ; Collision by Straykids “ did you hate me that much? you were always within my reach. where are you now? i cannot find you now. ”
synopsis y/n and jimin used to date. then y/n transferred univs. now they're on rival volleyball teams forced to share a court. jimin caught a volleyball to the head. y/n caught feelings (again). shit’s about to get athletic and emotionally unstable.
genre ; exes to lovers / enemies to lovers (but make it traumatic and horny) / college volleyball au / slowburn so slow u might scream / humor / crack / fluff / angst / lesbian screaming
warnings ; lots of suggestive / swearing every 0.2 seconds / jeno slander / offensive phrases / family stuff / lots of lesbians. like. a lot.
featuring ; aespa / xiaoting as y/n's faceclaim / kim minju / kim chaewon / huh yunjin / shin ryujin / hwang yeji / an yujin / kim minji / lee jeno
taglists are open !
status - on-going !
upd. sched - 4 chapters every after 2 days !
main masterlist. playlist. thunderspikers. blue eagles.
CHAPTERS ;
00. we broke up, she dated jeno, and now i want to kill her again
♯┆ you’re the coach’s daughter & karina is the skater who falls for you anyway. you were never hers to keep, but she loves you.
pairing. ice skater!karina x coach’s daughter!reader genre. friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending (thank faith bc yall almost didn’t get it), slow burn (kinda), mutual pining, forbidden love warning(s). cursing, cheating, kissing (making out), reader is in a failing relationship, this is a yearnfest man, coach is mean af, brief argument, suppressed emotions (karina my shayla 😔)
word count: 11k (this seems to be my limit chat)
“the more i hurt, the more i want you.”
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ katty ᥫ᭡: guysss when i tell you i sobbed while writing this like three times... (is an easy crier) but thanks for 600!!! (also i made a spotify playlist if you would like to listen while you read)
masterlist.
three weeks before regionals.
the rink is quiet this late at night.
you never even really plan to check on her. not really. you just happen to walk by the glass doors on most nights. most of the lights are off except for the spotlights above the center, casting shadows over the ice.
and there she was.
karina.
she was alone. as always.
the two of you weren’t very close, but you had conversations here and there. she was the type of person that focused on her passion more than anything else. it was admirable, really.
her movements were so sharp and precise. she was so clean it looked effortless. but you knew better. you knew the amount of hours she’s poured into every jump and every spin. you’ve heard the way your dad talks about her.
“she’s got the skill. but i need her to stop feeling so much.” he said once.
but you like it. the way she skates like there’s something breaking inside of her. that’s where the real beauty is.
you don’t reveal yourself at first. you just stand by the edge of the rink and pulled your coat tighter around your shoulders. the cold seeped in fast but you didn’t mind. not when you were watching her.
karina doesn’t notice you. or maybe she does and chooses not to look. she was always like that, distant but aware.
you wait until she finishes her routine, skates slowing to a stop in the center of the rink. she bends at the waist, catching her breath with hands on her knees.
that’s when you call out in a soft voice.
“your landing on the last combo was perfect.”
she was startled, head whipping toward the sound with wide eyes. her mouth parted like she was gonna say something, but then she just straightens and skates toward you quietly.
“i didn’t know anyone was here.” she says.
you hold up the water bottle in your hand. “i didn’t think you would still be here. but… i figured you forgot to bring this. again.”
she slows to a stop right in front of you, carving tiny shapes in the ice with her blades. you hand her the water bottle, fingertips brushing yours for a second.
“you always bring me water.” she mumbled.
“you never ask me not to.”
karina looks at you. there’s a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. she stares quietly, face never leaving yours.
“i guess i like when you worry about me.” she says after a moment. and then she smiles.
you don’t say anything back. you can’t.
you end up sitting beside her on the bench near the edge of the rink. she unlaced her skates slowly, water bottle sitting between you.
“i didn’t mean to interrupt. you looked… kinda lost in it.” you say after a while.
karina glances up at you and tugs one skate off with a small grunt. “i always get like that when i’m alone. it’s easier to pretend that no one’s watching.”
“but someone always is.”
she freezes for a second and then her lips curl into a smile, an almost amused one. “yeah. like you.”
i’m not— i didn’t mean—”
“i don’t mind. i like when it’s you.” she cut in while shrugging.
you don’t know what to say to that, so you pretend to focus on something else. her shoulder was just barely brushing yours.
karina sighs. “coach is gonna kill me for staying this late.”
“he doesn’t have to know.” you laughed.
“is that the coach’s daughter helping me break the rules?” she turns to you with one brow raised.
“i won’t tell if you don’t.” you reply.
then there’s a pause. a long one.
then she speaks. “you’re always here.”
“so are you.”
“i have to be.”
“you don’t. not at this hour.” you argue.
karina looks down at her hands. “he says that i need more reps on my loop. and i can’t land it clean if i don’t fix my axis. so…”
she doesn’t finish the sentence. and you feel as if she doesn’t need to.
the silence returns. then, you carefully pull a pair of hand warmers out of your coat pocket.
you hold them out without saying a word.
“you… brought these?”
“i figured you would forget those too.”
she doesn’t take them right away. she stares at them then back at you. and when she finally reaches out, her fingers brush yours again. except slower this time.
“thanks. for thinking of me.” she says softly.
“someone has to.” you shrug, trying to play it off.
she gives you a quiet laugh. then she leans back on the bench, shoulder still pressed to yours with her hand warmers resting in her lap.
neither of you say much after that.
the silence is comfortable. she hasn’t moved for a while now. her legs were stretched out and her fingers were curled around the hand warmers you gave her. you think maybe she’s falling asleep sitting up. or just enjoying your presence.
either way, you don’t say anything.
but then your phone buzzes.
twice. three times.
karina jumps before you even check it, like the sound snapped something inside of her. she doesn’t say anything, but her body moves away from yours.
you glance down. a name lights up your screen.
your boyfriend.
you forgot he said that he would call. you forgot about him entirely for a second.
that realization makes your stomach turn.
“sorry. didn’t mean to—“ you mumble, silencing it.
“it’s fine.” she was back to the cold version of her you know from practice days.
she stands before you can stop her, pulling her skates back on. the laces are uneven and she doesn’t even fix them.
“you don’t have to go.” you say stupidly, as if it’ll make her stay.
but she’s already halfway to the ice again.
“i should run the routine again. i’m still shaky on the loop.” she calls out from over her shoulder.
you stay on the bench and watch as she glides back toward the center of the rink, phone buzzing again in your hand. the music doesn’t play. she doesn’t need it.
she jumps before she’s ready. the landing is clean but you can tell.
she wasn’t skating to practice.
she was skating to forget you.
───────────────────────
the next day, somehow the rink feels colder.
maybe it’s the hour. or the way that karina doesn’t look at you when you walk in with your father. or it’s the silence that feels too heavy in between your steps.
she’s already on the ice when you arrive, pacing through her warm up jumps with clean movements. it was like last night never happened.
you sit off to the side as your dad steps onto the ice with his clipboard in hand.
“all right. start from the top. don’t drop your left arm on the entry again.” he calls, already stern. karina doesn’t reply. just nods once, jaw set. she adjusts her gloves and glides into position without a word.
the music starts.
you watch as she moves like she’s made for this. every jump makes her look as if she’s gliding. she doesn’t miss a beat.
but you see it. the way her chest rises too fast in between movements and the way way she hides the pain in her arm.
your father doesn’t.
“again. you were two seconds late on the last transition. don’t let the emotion get ahead of your technique.” he says the moment the final note fades.
she doesn’t argue. she just bows her head and skates back to the start.
you don’t say anything.
another run through. another correction. another sentence with barely contained frustration in your father’s voice as karina pushes herself harder, and faster. her blade slipped slightly on a landing and she hits the ice with a thud.
you flinch. but he doesn’t move.
“get up. you’re fine.” he says calmly.
karina pushes herself up slowly, lips pressed into a thin line. she doesn’t look at him or at you. you can see her hands shaking.
“i understand.” she says softly. and then she says it again in a quieter tone.
“i understand.”
and she tries again.
it breaks something in you.
she finishes the third run perfectly. doesn’t collapse this time, but her breaths are harsh now. your dad claps his hands together once.
“better. you can take a break.”
he walks off the ice like it’s another day, already reaching for his phone. the door slams behind him.
only then karina sits down, curling slightly forward with her gloves gripping her knees. you don’t even realize you’ve moved until you’re walking down the bleachers and stepping quietly onto the mats just off the ice.
“i’ve been here the whole time.” you say.
her head snaps up.
“i saw all of it. how hard you’re trying.” you continue.
karina doesn’t say anything at first. just looks at you with her eyes wide.
then she whispers. “did it look like i was good enough?”
you walk closer and kneel next to her.
“it looked like you were breaking yourself to be.”
she wasn’t used to being seen like this.
“i don’t want you to skate like that. like you’re trying to prove something to him.” you mumble.
“i’m not.” she lies.
you don’t say anything for a moment. just reach into your bag quietly and pull out the same bottle you brought yesterday. it’s refilled and a little colder this time.
you hold it out to her without saying a word.
she stares at it like it’s a peace offering from another being.
“you need to hydrate. even perfectionists have to drink water.” you say softly with a small shrug.
karina laughs breathily. her fingers graze against yours as she takes it and she doesn’t let go right away.
“i’m not perfect.” she mumbles.
“you kind of are.” you reply before you can stop yourself.
she looks at you, then down at the bottle in her hands. then back up.
you don’t have to be perfect all the time. not around me, at least.
is what you wanted to say. but instead you just stay silent.
karina swallows like she’s trying not to say anything.
“hey. i brought this.” you say in a slightly playful tone.
her eyes flicker to it and her lips twitch barely. you catch it.
“you brought snacks?”
“maybe.”
“i love chocolate.” karina mumbles as she takes it slowly and unwraps it with careful fingers. she breaks it in half and holds one piece out to you.
your chest squeezes.
you take it.
she eats her half like it’s one of the first real things she’s had in hours.
“thanks. for not leaving.” she says finally.
“i wouldn’t.”
“i know. i think i needed someone to stay anyway.” she glances down at the bottle.
“then i’ll stay.” you nod.
and you do.
you sit side by side on the cold bench. karina’s finished the chocolate, skates finally unlaced and resting beside her. her legs are pulled up onto the bench as if she’s disappearing into her hoodie.
her phone buzzes once between you.
“my ride’s late.” she mutters, her thumb tapping the screen before she sets it face down.
you nod with your hands in your jacket pockets. “i can wait with you.”
“you don’t have to.”
“i want to.”
karina doesn’t argue. she just looks at you with an unreadable expression.
for a while, it’s quiet again.
“you were always watching me.”
you look over at her with a startled expression. “what?”
she smiles a little. “yesterday. at practice. today too. i can feel it.”
you look away. “you’re kinda hard to miss.”
“i noticed you before that.” she says. almost too quietly.
your heart skips a beat.
she leans against the bench with her head tilted up. “you came to one of my meets last year. sat way in the back and didn’t talk to anyone.”
you froze.
“i didn’t think you saw me.” you admit.
“i always see you.” she says and the words land with a softness that makes your heart race.
you open your mouth, searching for something to say.
“my dad expects a lot from you.”
she just stays quiet.
“the way you don’t fight back. it’s the same way i used to be.”
“do you ever wish you could quit?” you ask.
karina turns her head, looking at you. “every day.”
you look down at your hands. “but you don’t.”
“no. because i still love it. even when it hurts.”
you nod quietly.
“does anyone know you feel like that?” you ask.
she shakes her head. “no. i don’t tell them.”
“but i tell let you.”
it comes out as a whisper. you’re too surprised to say anything.
then the sound of a car pulling into the lot breaks the moment.
karina doesn’t move right away, she just watches you like she’s still thinking about saying something else. but she doesn’t.
she stands, slowly grabbing her things.
“i’ll see you tomorrow?” she says.
“yeah. tomorrow.”
and as she walks away, you feel that feeling in your chest. the feeling of someone slipping through your fingers even while they promise they’ll stay.
───────────────────────
it’s past nine the next day when you find her again.
the rink is empty and the lights are dimmed to half their usual level. her bag is forgotten on the bench and there’s a single light glowing from her phone screen. it was probably another missed call or her ride running late again.
she was alone in the center. there was no music this time, just her blades breaking the silence.
you don’t call out.
you sit on the same bench as before and unzip your jacket. you pull out a small paper bag and inside is a chocolate croissant you picked up earlier.
she doesn’t notice you until she slows down. she does one last spin and then she slides to the edge of the rink, brushing the hair from her face. that’s when she sees you.
her eyes widen and her chest heaves from the effort.
“you came back.” she said breathlessly.
“you’re not hard to find.” you tease gently.
karina steps off the ice carefully, taking off her gloves as she comes over. her cheeks are pink from the cold.
“what is it this time?”
“guess.”
she sits next to you again, closer than before. your knees almost touch.
she peeks into the bag and smiles slightly.
“you remembered i like chocolate.”
“i remember everything.” you say before you can stop yourself.
she looks at you and there’s something soft in her expression. maybe grateful or just stunned.
she slowly takes a bite and you watch her shoulders relax with the first chew.
neither of you one talk for a bit.
“you don’t owe me this, you know. the snacks, waiting, or the way you look at me.” she mumbled.
“i’m not doing it because i owe you anything.” you shrug.
“then why?”
“because i want you to feel like someone’s always there for you. no matter what.”
karina looks down at the half eaten pastry in her hands with an unreadable expression. no one’s ever done that for her, you realize.
just stayed. showed up. believed in her even when she wasn’t performing.
she swallows hard.
“thank you.” she whispers.
you could tell her it’s nothing. that’s it’s easy. that you would do it a hundred times over.
but you don’t.
she leans just a little closer this time and her shoulder almost brushes yours. you pretend not to notice.
she was slowly letting you in. it was pieces of her that she hopes you’ll handle carefully.
and you will. every time.
───────────────────────
the next day, you return to the rink again.
you were going to give her space but something in your chest pulled you back.
when you walk inside, karina’s already on the ice.
alone again. no music or audience.
you don’t even have a chance to say anything before it happens.
she goes into a spin too fast, and the blade of her skate catches wrong.
you hear the crack of impact before you see it.
karina hits the ice hard.
you froze with your breath caught in your throat.
she doesn’t get up right away. she just lies there, chest rising and falling.
then she slowly pushes herself to sit.
and you see it.
it wasn’t pain.
it was frustration.
she rips off one of her gloves and throws it to the side. her other hand slams against the ice. the sound echoes like a gunshot in the empty rink.
“stupid, i’m so stupid. why can’t i just—“ she mutters before choking on the words. her other glove comes off and her hands clench into fists.
you’re moving before you can think. sliding open the door to the rink and stepping out toward her.
“karina.”
she tensed.
you see the way her back straightens and her breathing stalls. she turns her head with wide eyes, like she didn’t know that anyone was watching.
you kneel beside her carefully.
she doesn’t look at you.
“i’m fine. i was doing fine. i’ve done this a hundred times.” she says quietly.
“i know.”
“i can’t afford to mess up right now. not when regionals are in three weeks. not when— not when everyone’s already waiting for me to fall.” her voice cracks.
your heart twists.
“i’m not.” you respond.
she finally looks at you.
this time, you see it all. the exhaustion just behind her eyes.
“i’m not waiting for you to fall. but i’ll be here to catch you if you do.” you say without thinking.
something breaks in her expression.
“i hate crying.” she says.
“you’re not.”
“it feels like i am.”
you pull down the sleeve of your jacket down and gently press the fabric to her cheek, wiping away a tear.
“you’re allowed to be human, karina.”
she closes her eyes.
and for the first time, she leans into your hand. not all the way, but enough to let you know she’s tired of being strong alone.
she doesn’t say anything for a bit after you wipe her tear.
she just sits there with her fists clenched and jaw tight.
but then she shifts, and you know she’s trying to get up.
you offer your hand without saying anything.
she hesitates.
for a second, you think she might not take it.
but then almost reluctantly, her fingers slip into yours.
her hand is cold and her grip is too gentle for someone who just punched the ice a minute ago.
you pull her to her feet and settle her when she wobbles.
she doesn’t let go right away. and neither do you.
you’re closer than you’ve ever been. her face is still flushed from skating and her lips part just slightly when she looks at you.
“thank you.” she whispers.
you almost respond, saying something too honest, but that’s when your phone buzzes.
you both look down at the same time.
it’s your boyfriend.
you freeze. and karina notices.
she drops your hand before you can even react and steps back like she wasn’t just unraveling in your arms seconds ago.
“i should… i should get back to it.” she mutters, brushing her hands off on her
“karina—”
“it’s fine. you should take that.” her voice returns back to neutral. it’s not angry, but it’s distant.
you glance down at your phone again.
when you look up, karina’s already lacing her gloves back on.
you don’t stop her.
and somehow, that hurts more than the distance that she just put between you.
because now you know what it looks like when she almost lets someone in.
and what it feels like when she slams the door shut just as fast.
───────────────────────
the rink is even colder tonight.
you’re not here just to watch this time. you’re here because you couldn’t stay away.
karina hasn’t looked at you once since yesterday.
you came in quietly, settling into the middle row with a blanket around your shoulders and a box of fruits in your lap. you didn’t expect her to notice you.
but you still hoped.
she steps onto the ice like nothing ever happened.
she’s different today. you can see it.
she’s trying harder. like she’s trying to prove something.
you watch her routine in silence. it’s the same one she’s been perfecting for weeks. there’s no music, but you know it by heart now. you could probably hum the entire song if she asked.
she doesn’t fall this time.
but her landing is shaky and her spin is off center. her arms falter for half a second in the last sequence.
she finishes with what would be flawless from anyone else’s eyes.
but when she stops and lets out a heavy exhale, you can tell she’s not satisfied.
you wait until she comes off the ice and tug her sweatshirt back over her training top.
then you call out.
“that was beautiful.”
karina looks up so fast you wonder if she ever knew that you were here.
you hold up the water bottle and the fruits you packed earlier. strawberry and banana slices with two small chocolates tucked into the corner.
she walks over slowly. almost cautiously.
“i didn’t know that you were coming.”
“didn’t want to miss your performance.” you shrug.
she sits next to you on the bleachers. you hand her the box and she takes it wordlessly, taking the top off of the container.
“you’re really good, karina.” you say softly. maybe a little too soft.
“like... i don’t even know anything about skating but i can feel it when i watch you. that’s gotta mean something.”
karina froze mid bite.
you glance at her but she’s not looking at you. just staring down at her fruits.
“…what?” you ask.
“no one’s ever said that to me. not like that.”
“really? you’re one of the best.”
“your dad is always too focused on what needs to be fixed. where my lines are off and where i’m not centered. he says praise makes you soft.”
you feel something in your chest. then you nudge her with your shoulder.
“then i’ll do it for him.”
that makes her look at you. her eyes are slightly wide and her expression is unreadable.
you smile. “i’ll be your fan. i’ll even be loud and annoying. if you want me to.”
karina looks away but you still catch the shade of red rising to her cheeks.
“you’d be my audience?”
“i am your audience. right now. front now.” you say.
she hides her laugh behind a sip of water. then she asks.
“will you stay if i go again?”
you nod without a second thought.
you stay in the same seat while she steps back onto the ice and it looks like her entire body is lighter. you didn’t know it was because of your praise.
when she begins again you catch her stealing a glance at you during the first spin.
then she does it again during the glide.
you wave.
and she almost stumbles from smiling too hard.
karina finishes her routine again and this time, she nails it.
everything was flawless.
when she comes to a stop in front of you, she doesn’t say anything. she just looks at you like she’s searching for something in your expression.
you don’t hold back.
“that was perfect.”
“you think so?”
“i know so. you were scary good. i got chills.” you hug the blanket tighter around your shoulders.
karina lets out a soft laugh and looks away, but she’s smiling. her shoulders lower like she’s allowing herself to feel proud for once.
she walks over to the edge of the rink and sits beside you again. this time she sits closer. her thigh brushes against yours and neither of you move away.
you offer her a chocolate from the snack box. she takes it.
“i’m serious. you skate like your entire heart is in it.” you say.
her smile fades, but not in a bad way. it turns into something softer.
“it is.”
you look at her. you’ve never seen someone work so hard for something that almost no one praises them for.
“you should be proud of yourself, karina.”
she doesn’t respond right away. she just eats the chocolate in silence.
maybe you lean a little closer than you should.
maybe she does too.
because you feel something change again.
she turns her head to look at you.
and the way she’s looking makes your stomach do a thing.
like she’s never had someone talk to her like this.
like no one’s ever stayed.
“i like it when you’re here. i skate better.” she says suddenly.
you smile and your heart does a weird skip. “then i’ll keep coming.”
karina’s eyes flick down to your mouth for a second too long.
and then, you see it happen. the moment she remembers.
your boyfriend.
your father.
everything that makes this too complicated.
she pulls away slightly. but it’s enough for you to notice.
you don’t know what you did wrong, but she’s straightening her spine again. putting space between you.
“you should probably head out soon. it’s getting late.” she says. her voice was too polite for you to like it.
“karina—”
“your dad doesn’t like when you stay late, right?”
you pause, reading her face.
it’s completely changed. her composure. she’s still distant.
the softness is still there, but it’s tucked away.
still, you try.
“i don’t mind staying.”
she stands up anyway, avoiding your eyes.
“i’ll lock up after i’m done.”
then she’s skating away again.
but as she gets back into position, her gaze flicks to you. just once.
like maybe she wished you would stop her.
but you don’t.
not this time.
───────────────────────
the next night, you show up again.
you don’t say anything.
you just walk in with your tumbler of hot chocolate, blanket folded over your arm.
karina’s already skating when you get there and her movements are sharp but you can tell that she’s tired. her routine looks less precise, like her mind is somewhere else.
you settle into your now usual seat and wait, wrapping yourself in the blanket. you don’t cheer or wave this time. you just watch.
when she finishes the routine and finally notices you, she doesn’t look surprised.
she just comes to a stop and lets her hands rest on her hips while panting softly.
“hey.” you say.
she skates over slowly.
she doesn’t sit next to you this time. just leans against the railing while looking down at her skates.
“you didn’t have to come again.”
“i wanted to.”
karina doesn’t reply.
you hold out the tumbler. “it’s hot chocolate.”
she glances at it then at you. then, she reluctantly takes it.
you watch her sip it slowly.
“you don’t have to be alone all the time, you know.”
karina’s shoulders tense.
but she doesn’t look at you. she just stares at the ice, jaw tight.
“it’s easier this ways.” she says after a long pause.
you’re caught off guard by the honesty. “easier?”
“no one expects anything from me when i’m alone.”
there’s something about the way she says it. like she’s told herself that a thousand times before.
you want to reach for her. but you don’t.
“i expect something from you.”
she looks at you. almost defensively. but your gaze is soft.
“i expect you to take care of yourself. to eat. to rest. to let people care about you.”
karina swallows.
you think she might say something, but instead she just looks down.
“you have a boyfriend.”
your stomach twists and you look down at your hands.
“i know.”
“you’re the coach’s daughter.”
“i know that too.”
silence stretches between you. and then she whispers.
“i can’t let myself like you.”
it’s the closest thing to a confession she’s ever given you. and you’re afraid that it’s the closest that she ever will.
your heart breaks in two.
you don’t know what to say. you don’t even know if you’re allowed to say anything at all.
so you just sit there with your fingers trembling inside the blanket.
she takes one last sip of the hot chocolate then hands the tumbler back to you, fingers brushing yours like she doesn’t mean to. but maybe she does.
then she skates away again.
the sound of your heartbeat is louder than her blades cutting across the ice.
“karina.” you call out, voice echoing through the empty rink.
she doesn’t stop.
you stand up. “karina, wait—”
she’s still skating. even faster now.
it stings. the way she shuts down, like she’s trying to outskate the things you make her feel.
so you raise your voice.
“why do you keep doing this?”
that makes her stop abruptly. her skates carve into the ice, and send up a sharp spray of frost. she turns to you with an unreadable expression.
“doing what?”
“this.” you gesture between you both. “one second you let me in and the next you’re skating away like you hate me.”
she exhaled hard, looking away. “i’m not doing anything.”
“yes you are. you talk to me, open up, and then remember i’m someone you shouldn’t like and you shut down again. every single time.”
karina’s jaw clenches.
you step closer. “i’m not trying to confuse you. i just want to be there for you. and i thought… i thought maybe you wanted that too.”
“i do. god, i do. but what do you want me to with that? you have a boyfriend and your dad hates me. this isn’t about just skating anymore.” she says, voice cracking slightly.
you pause.
“i never said it was about just skating.”
karina looks at you. her expression softens but you can see something else in her eyes.
she shakes her head, scoffing slightly. “you don’t get it.”
“then make me get it.”
“i can’t! because if i say it out loud then it’s real, and if it’s real then i’ll want something that i can’t have.” she nearly yells, voice echoing off the walls.
the silence that follows is so loud that it hurts.
she blinks fast like she didn’t mean to say that.
and you just stand there, stunned.
“karina…”
her name comes out softer now.
she looks down at her skates, biting her lip.
“i think you should go.”
your throat tightens. “do you really want me to?”
karina closes her eyes.
“no.”
but she turns away anyway.
and this time, you just let her skate.
because now you know. she’s not pushing you away because she doesn’t care.
she’s pushing you away because she does.
───────────────────────
the rink feels colder again.
it’s not the weather. it’s the emptiness.
karina gets there late, hoodie pulled tight over her head with her headphones in. her water bottle is half full.
but when she steps onto the ice, the first thing she does is look at the stands.
you’re not there.
she pretends that it doesn’t bother her. pretends that she doesn’t notice.
she warms up and does her stretches, then she goes through the footwork section of her routine easily.
but when it’s time to start the real run through, she hesitates.
you’re still not there.
there’s no voice cheering her on softly.
no tumbler clutched in your hands.
no little smile whenever she glances over her shoulder.
she tries to push through it, starts the routine anyway. but halfway through the first turn, she tumbles. her balance slips and her hand scrapes the ice hard, making her curse under her breath.
she gets up and starts again.
falls again.
but it’s worse this time.
she sits on the ice for longer, breathing heavily. her eyes are unfocused and for the first time in weeks, she feels it creeping back in. that voice in her head that tells her she’s not enough. that she’ll never be enough.
she presses the tip of her palm against her forehead.
she doesn’t cry. but she’s close.
and then she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone.
your name is right there, but she doesn’t call.
she just stares at the screen for a long, long time.
her thumb was hovering over the call button.
just one tap. but she doesn’t do it. she locks the phone, puts it back into her pocket and stands up.
this time, she doesn’t try the routine again.
she just skates in slow, aimless circles.
alone.
two weeks before regionals.
it’s been a week.
seven days.
karina counted them all. skated through every single one one of them like it meant nothing, but it did. she just got better at pretending it didn’t.
there was two weeks until regionals now.
everyone’s tense and the rink is busier than usual. there’s more skaters and more pressure but tonight, she’s the only one left. again.
she’s been pushing herself too hard. trying things she shouldn't be attempting this late. her left ankle’s bruised and her back aches. her music plays on loop but none of it feels right. nothing has felt right ever since you stopped showing up.
she doesn’t expect to see you again, which is why when she hears the door creak open mid routine she doesn’t stop right away.
it’s only when she glances toward the stands and sees you with your blanket, tumbler, and uncertain smile that she fumbles a landing.
not enough to fall. but just enough to feel it. just enough to feel everything again.
you stay quiet for a moment and just sit there.
karina lets out a shaky breath and skates to the edge, stopping right in front of you. neither of you say anything right away.
you hold out the tumbler.
she hesitates but takes it and wraps her hands around it like she did before.
“you’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”
she looks at you.
“noticed that from your seat?” she says, trying to sound teasing but it comes out tired.
“i noticed from not being in it.” you reply and her chest twists.
she leans against the edge of the rink, back against the wall. you lean forward next to her, elbows on the railing.
“i didn’t think that you would come back.” she admits.
“i wasn’t sure if i should.”
“why did you?”
“because you looked like you needed someone.” you shrug.
she glances up at you, something vulnerable showing in her eyes.
“i always do.”
that breaks something in you.
yet, neither of you move.
she sips the hot chocolate and you rest your chin on your hands.
“i missed watching you skate.” you whisper.
karina closes her eyes for a second, as if she’s allowing herself to believe you again.
“i skated better when you were here.”
you heart stutters.
it always does when she says that.
karina doesn’t look at you when she says it. she just stares down at her hands, thumbs moving over the tumbler. she looks small like this. not because she is, but because she’s tired. tired in a way that you’ve never really seen her before.
“then i guess i should’ve never left.”
she looks up. your stomach makes you feel weird in the way it always does when she looks at you like that. and she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
“you skate like you don’t even need air.”
“i don’t. until you’re not here.” she says quietly.
there’s silence after that. you’re not sure of what to say next.
“i brought you chocolate.”
karina lets out a quiet laugh.
“you remembered?”
“of course i did. you barely eat.” you say this time.
“that’s scary.”
“what is?”
“being known.”
the way she says it makes it seem like it’s a luxury she doesn’t let herself have.
you don’t reply. you just pull out the bar and hand it to her.
“then i’ll be careful with you.” you mumble.
and that is the moment she knows she’s completely fucked.
because you’re kind and careful. and also someone else’s. and her coach’s daughter.
and she’s still never wanted to kiss someone more in her entire life.
she doesn’t say anything after that.
just keeps her eyes on the bar of chocolate like if she looks at you again, then something might break.
you don’t move either. you just sit there.
you can hear her breathing. see the way her fingers tap against the tumbler, then stop, and then start again. she’s fidgeting and that alone is strange.
“were you okay? the days i didn’t come.” you ask softly, breaking the silence.
her eyes drop.
“no.”
the honesty stings.
but she doesn’t apologize for it.
she shrugs a little, like she’s trying to play it off. “it was just… harder.”
“i’m sorry.” you nod slowly.
“i didn’t want you to feel like you had to come.”
“i didn’t. i wanted to.” you say, meeting her eyes.
her breath catches. you notice but you pretend not to.
“i used to wonder if i actually helped at all. or if i was just a distraction.”
“you weren’t.” she says immediately with no hesitation. “you aren’t. you’re…”
she trails off.
“i’m what?”
she looks back at you, but she looks scared.
“you’re part that makes it hurt less.”
and that does something to you.
you don’t say anything. you can’t, really. not when your throat feels tight and your chest is full of something you can’t name. or you’re too scared to.
so you reach over slowly, placing your fingers over hers.
she doesn’t move. her hand stays beneath yours, still and warm and trembling.
and for a moment, neither of you breathe.
then your phone buzzes on the bench behind you.
karina pulls her hand away before you could even blink.
you turn around, already knowing who it is.
karina stands and grabs her bag without saying anything.
you wish she would. you wish you could.
“thanks for the snack.”
and then she’s gone.
───────────────────────
the next day you show up earlier.
you don’t pretend it’s not for her anymore. you’re sitting in your usual seat with your blanket, tumbler, and snack beside you as you watch the skaters rotate through their drills.
but karina doesn’t come out right away.
you see her peek through the glass from the hall. you catch her gaze for a second, then she disappears.
she doesn’t return until everyone else is wrapping up.
and even then, she still doesn’t look at you.
she glides past the bench, focused with her headphones in. you try not to take it personal, but it’s hard. her eyes don’t meet yours once.
you wait until she finishes her routine. she lands the last jump perfectly. almost too perfectly. like it’s anger and not focus pushing her through it.
you stand when she skates off.
she walks past you like she didn’t see you at all.
so you follow.
“karina.”
she doesn’t turn around.
“hey— stop.”
she finally stops by the far end of the rink right by the locker hallway, but she doesn’t face you. she just stands there with her fists clenched at her sides.
you take a step closer. “are you avoiding me?”
she exhaled. “i’m not avoiding you.”
“you literally didn’t look at me all night.”
“that’s not avoidance.”
“then what is it?”
“It’s self preservation.” she snaps.
you froze.
her chest is rising and falling quickly, eyes glossy with something she’s trying hard to suppress.
“karina.”
“i can’t do this. not when i know you’re gonna leave again. not when i know who you go home to. i’m trying to stay focused. this—“ she gestures between you two. “— this messes with me.”
“so what, you’re just cutting me off?”
she looks at you like she wishes she could say no. but she says nothing.
you shake your head. “you don’t get to push me away just because you’re scared.”
“i’m not scared.” she says too fast.
“then what are you?”
silence.
she looks at you and it breaks something in both of you.
“falling.”
your heart drops.
“falling. and you’re not allowed to catch me.”
neither of you move.
everything feels louder now. her hands are shaking again and you want to grab them, tell her you're already falling too, even if you’re too much of a coward to admit it yet.
but your phone rings again.
and this time, she doesn’t wait for you to answer it.
she just walks away.
───────────────────────
the next day is cold. like always.
you’re already in the stands when karina steps into the rink, tying her jacket tighter with her head down. she’s barely slept either, but she’s used to that.
then she sees you. and her heart stops.
you’re curled up on the bleachers in the same blanket, but you look different.
you’re always soft and always quiet, but this time there’s something hollow behind your eyes.
they’re puffy. and red.
your smile is barely there.
she sees the dark circles immediately. and the way you’re not waving or calling out to her like usual. you don’t even look like you’ve eaten anything.
karina slows to a stop in the middle of the walkway, just staring at you.
she can tell that something’s wrong.
and then the sound of your father’s voice cuts through the silence.
“again!”
karina flinches.
he’s not yelling, but his tone is sharp, cutting in that way only coaches can be.
disappointment wrapped in professionalism.
“you’re stiff. you’re late on your rotations. you want to fall in front of the judges? pick it up. again.”
she doesn’t respond. just nods. she’s good at taking hits and pushing through.
but even from the bleachers, you’re watching every second like it physically hurts to witness.
karina’s eyes change to you between jumps, just once, for a second.
and you’re already looking at her.
your eyes crack in heartbreak.
like it’s killing you to see her go through this after the night you just had.
she lands the jump. barely.
your father says nothing this time, just mutters something under his breath and walks off toward the office.
karina exhales and then she looks at you.
that’s when she realizes. you weren’t just tired. you were crying.
all night.
and somehow, she knows it wasn’t just about him. it was about her, too. about everything you’re not allowed to say. about everything that she made worse by pushing you away.
her throat tightens and you try to smile at her.
you don’t even think before you stand. you just move, blanket slipping off your shoulders and your feet hitting the bleachers faster than they should. your heart was pounding in your throat like it wants to say something first.
by the time karina’s stepping off the ice, you’re already waiting by the edge with your arms crossed.
she sees you and it wrecks her.
you can tell by the way she hesitates just for a second. the way her eyes linger on your face then drop to your hands. they’re empty.
she unties her skates slowly, like she’s trying to draw out the seconds. maybe she’s hoping that you’ll leave.
you don’t.
you crouch down beside her instead and she still doesn’t look at you.
“i brought water. it’s in the stands.” you say quietly.
she doesn’t respond.
“i couldn’t sleep.” you add.
she exhales shakily. “why are you here?”
you swallow. “because i can’t not be.”
her fingers pause on her laces.
“i kept thinking about what you said. that you skated better when i was here. that this messed with you.” you continue, looking at her hands instead of her face.
she doesn’t say anything.
“do you think it doesn’t mess with me too? do you think that i don’t feel it? when you look at me like that? when you won’t look at me at all?” you whisper.
she finally looks up. and it’s all there.
the hurt. the want. the grief of something she hasn’t even let herself have yet.
“i don’t know what i’m allowed to feel when it comes to you. you’re the coaches daughter. you have a boyfriend. and i’m just—“
“stop.” you interrupt. “don’t do that. don’t reduce yourself to that.”
karina flinches.
“last night we got into an argument. i told him that it wasn’t fair. that someone else— you— make me feel more in the ten minutes after practice than he has in months.”
her lips part. she looks like she’s trying not to break.
“you’re the only person who sees me for me.”
karina swallows hard. “you can’t say things like that.”
“why not?”
“because i want to believe them.”
you both fall silent.
you don’t touch her. you don’t move. You just sit in the silence, watching the way her eyes glisten and dart to the ground like she can’t bear to look at you for too long.
“i kept waiting for it to go away. whatever this is.” she says finally.
“and?”
she looks up.
“it never did.”
your breath hitches.
neither of you say it. you don’t need to. it’s the distance neither of you dare to cross yet.
“i skated better when you were here.” she says again. like it’s a confession now.
“and i broke when you weren’t.”
this time, you don’t look away. and neither does she.
she stands first.
you think she might reach for you, but her arms stay at her sides. her fingers twitch like they want to move but don’t know how to move without ruining everything.
“i should go.” she says quietly.
“my ride’s waiting.”
you nod slowly. “okay.”
neither of you move.
there’s a second where it feels like she might stay. like she might say screw it and finally do something reckless.
but she doesn’t.
she looks at you like she’s memorizing you in case this is the last time she gets to.
“you make things better. just by being here.” she says almost too softly to hear.
and then she turns.
no goodbye. no wave.
when you finally stand, your hands shake.
because you know it’s not over.
but it hasn’t started yet, either.
it’s just waiting.
like you are.
one week before regionals.
you’re curled up in your usual spot with a tumbler of tea between your hands.
karina’s been skating for over an hour. and for once, she hasn’t looked your way.
you don’t blame her.
not really.
you told him the truth two days ago. you ended it.
but endings don’t mean freedom. not when guilt clings to you.
you’ve barely talked to her since.
not about it.
not about anything.
but you’re here. you’re always here, and she knows that.
when her routine finishes you stand without thinking, legs sore from sitting too long. you meet her by the edge of the rink. the way you always do.
you offer the water bottle without saying a word. she takes it with tired eyes, lips parted like she might say something.
but she doesn’t.
“you’re sharper today. your landings are cleaner.”
“thanks.”
just that. no warmth behind it.
you swallow it down and try again. “do you want to run through it again with music? i can play it for you.”
she hesitates before shrugging. “if you want.”
it stings a little. but you press play anyway.
and as she skates, you watch her the way you always have. you’ve seen it a million times before, but it still knocks the wind out of you every time.
because she’s beautiful.
because she’s yours in all the ways that don’t count.
and it’s killing you.
when the music fades you’re already moving to meet her again. she unlaces her skates in silence.
you crouch beside her like you did the last time, and you’ll probably keep doing it until she tells you not to.
“you don’t have to keep showing up.”
“i want to.”
she glances at you quickly.
“you’re going through stuff too.” she says.
“so are you.”
for a second, she just stares.
“does it hurt?”
“what?”
“the breakup.”
“yeah.” you don’t lie.
she nods once. slowly.
then she says your name like it’s fragile. like if she speaks it too loud you might shatter.
“i hate that it hurts. but i don’t regret it.” she mumbles.
you stare at her.
and you know. you know she’s not just talking about the breakup.
you know she means this. you. whatever’s going on between you two that neither of you fully touch yet.
“me neither.”
she doesn’t touch you.
you don’t ask her to stay.
you just sit side by side on the cold floor of the empty rink, hearts quietly breaking for each other in a way that feels like a promise. even if neither of you said the words.
it happened four days before regionals.
it was so fast that you barely registered it.
your dad’s voice was sharp as it echoed through the rink. words like focus, sloppy, and disappointment cut through the air with every frustrated step he took.
karina stands perfectly still on the ice, arms stiff at her sides.
she doesn’t look at him.
she doesn’t look at you either.
“again. and this time, land the jump like someone who actually wants to qualify.” he barks.
you open your mouth like you were about to say something. but you don’t. you know better than to poke the fire when it’s this close to regionals. so you stay still and bite your tongue until it tastes like metal.
karina just nods quietly.
like always.
like she’s learned to.
she runs the routine again.
it’s not bad.
but it’s not perfect. and he lets her know.
another critique and another sigh. then he walks away without even a good job to soften the blow.
you hear the door to the rink slam shut behind him.
and then it’s silent.
karina glides off the ice and sits on the bench without a word, untying her skates with trembling fingers.
you approach carefully.
she doesn’t look at you.
“i can’t do this.”
it’s so quiet you almost miss it.
her voice breaks on the last word, and she’s leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, hands gripping her hair like she’s trying to hold herself together.
your chest hurts.
you kneel in front of her without thinking.
“karina—”
“i can’t breathe anymore. every time i mess up it’s like— he looks at me like i’m wasting everyone’s time. like i’m not worth it.” she chokes out.
“hey. that’s not true.” you whisper, reaching up slowly but not touching her.
tears fall down her face, but she doesn’t wipe them. “i’ve done everything. i’ve pushed myself so hard i can’t even feel my legs anymore, and it’s still not enough.”
“you are enough.”
she shakes her head. “i’m so tired. and i don’t even know why i’m still trying. i keep thinking maybe… maybe if i do it perfectly, just once, someone will finally say i did good.” she whispers, voice trembling.
you feel your heart break. because you know that feeling.
so this time, you do reach for her.
you hand lands lightly on her knee. “i see you. i’ve seen you this whole time.”
karina finally looks up.
it looks like she’s been holding this in for years.
“you skate like it means something. i don’t care if you fall or if it’s messy. or if my dad doesn’t say anything. i’ll always think you’re perfect.”
she blinks and more tears slip down. then her lip quivers.
and then carefully and hesitantly, karina leans forward and rests her forehead on your shoulder. its not a hug but it’s close.
you don’t move.
you just stay there with her in the silence, letting her fall apart without asking her to stop.
because she’s always been the strong one. and maybe this once she needed someone to hold the weight.
───────────────────────
it’s late when your phone buzzes.
you’re still awake, staring at the ceiling. you’ve been replaying the moment in the rink all evening. the way her forehead pressed to your shoulder like she was scared to go any closer.
you reach for your phone.
karina
are you still up?
you sit up instantly.
you
yeah. are you okay?
there’s a pause. it’s long enough that you start to wonder if she’s fallen asleep.
karina
can you come over? i don’t want to be alone tonight.
and in less than fifteen minutes later she opens the door in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings. her hair was pulled back messily.
you love her so much in that moment it actually hurts.
“hi.” you say softly.
karina steps aside to let you in.
“you didn’t have to come.”
“you asked.”
she doesn’t argue.
her skates are drying by the heater, and sits cross legged on her bed. you follow hesitantly, leaving just enough space between you to make her feel safe.
“thank you.” she mumbled.
“for what?”
“for being there today. i don’t think i could’ve kept it together if you weren’t.” she shrugged.
“you don’t always have to keep it together.”
“yeah. try telling my brain that.”
“he was hard on you today.” you say after a while.
karina nods, looking down. “he’s always been that way. but i guess it hit harder today.”
you watch her for a moment.
“i already think the world of you.” you say without thinking.
karina blinks, breath hitching.
and she leans in. just a little.
“if i ask you to stay… will you?”
you don’t hesitate.
“i’m already here.”
and you don’t know what time it is now.
only that the world has gone still.
karina hasn’t moved in a while. not since she adjusted the blanket over your legs. she’s barely said anything, really. but she hasn’t stopped looking at you.
and you haven’t stopped pretending you don’t notice.
you should go.
you tell yourself that again and again, but instead you turn your head and find her already watching you. her lips were parted like she was about to say something but changed her mind.
“what?” you whisper.
she shakes her head. “nothing.”
you hesitate.
“you can say it.”
karina’s eyes search yours, and for a second it looks like she might. like she’ll confess something. or maybe let go of something she’s been holding in for so long.
instead, she mumbles. “i skate better when you’re here.” she says again.
“i’ll be here. if you want me to.” you say.
“that’s the problem.”
your heart stutters.
she doesn’t explain. but she doesn’t have to.
you’re the coach’s daughter and she has a championship to win. and yet, you’re here.
and she wants you.
you’re both still sitting close, knees brushing under the blanket. close enough to kiss if you leaned in just a little.
and maybe she’s thinking the same thing. because she leans in.
barely.
barely enough that it could be a dream.
your breath catches.
your eyes flutter down to her mouth. and she hesitates.
she sits there, fingers twitching like she wants to reach for your hand.
but instead of kissing you, karina leans in further and folds herself into you.
her arms go around your waist, gentle and unsure.
her face buries into your neck.
and you hold her without saying a word. you let her heart beat against yours. your fingers find the edge of her sleeve and just stay there, gripping gently.
you don’t move after that. neither of you do.
you’re half-asleep when you feel her exhale against your neck.
her arms tightened slightly around you, and her forehead rests just beneath your jaw now. her warm breath fans your collarbone.
“i don’t know how to stop wanting you.”
you freeze. not all the way, but enough. enough that your breath stutters.
you don’t breathe for a full second after she says it.
you wonder if she even knows she said it or if it slipped through the cracks of exhaustion and everything else that she’s been holding in.
you feel her body relax against yours a moment later. her breathing slows. she’s asleep.
and you’re still wide awake, repeating her words in your head.
you close your eyes and press your cheek lightly to the top of her head.
“i don’t want you to stop.”
she doesn’t stir. she doesn’t answer.
maybe she won’t remember the words she said. maybe she won’t remember yours. but you will. you always will.
───────────────────────
the rink is full of silence. when you arrive you just stand there and watch her for a moment.
karina is skating slow mindless loops, nothing like her usual precision. she’s moving like she’s trying to outrun invisible. you know what it is. because you heard it.
your father’s voice still rings in your ears, loud and relentless. it was another round of “you’re still not landing clean” and “if you’re gonna do that tomorrow, don’t even bother showing up.” it was another night where she nodded without speaking, biting her tongue hard enough to keep the tears from slipping out.
you didn’t interfere. you never do. but you watch. you always watch.
and maybe that’s why you’re here now, stepping through the gap in the railing and walking out onto the empty rink.
she doesn’t notice you right away. her eyes are focused elsewhere and her gaze is distant. you wonder if she even feels her skates gliding beneath her anymore, or if she’s somewhere else completely. a place where no one’s yelling.
you kneel at the edge of the rink. “karina?”
she slows instantly, head snapping toward your voice like muscle memory.
“hey.” you say softly.
she looks at you for a moment.
“you— uh— your dad said that you left.” she says. her voice is quieter than usual.
“i came back.”
she skates closer, finally stepping off the ice. she doesn’t sit, she just stands in front of you while hugging herself.
“you saw.”
“i did.”
karina lets out a humorless laugh and looks away. “whatever. i’ve had worse.
“that doesn’t make it okay.”
her eyes flicker back to yours. there’s a flash of something there but she looks down quickly, beginning to untie her boots.
“you were good today. better than good.”
“not good enough.”
“for him. but you don’t skate for him.”
her hands fall away from her laces. she straightens slowly and finally looks at you. there’s something about her expression, like she’s trying to figure out whether to let this moment happen or shut it down.
“and who do i skate for then?” she asks. your heart skips. “i don’t know. but when you skate, i can feel it. the emotion. it’s indescribable.” you mumble.
karina swallows.
you take a step forward, closing the space between you.
“but i can see it.”
“you always show up when i need you most. even when you don’t know it.” she whispered after a bit.
“what, are you keeping track?” you laughed.
she hums. “maybe.”
you don’t know that she cried last night. that her hands shook as she held the letter. she read the email from the coach six times before your dad finally admit that he recommended her. that she almost said no.
almost.
you also don’t know this might be the last time she skates in front of you.
not yet.
“you nervous about tomorrow?”
“you’re the one competing.”
“yeah, but… i skate better when you’re here.”
there it is again. the quiet truth that she keeps letting slip piece by piece.
you don’t know how to answer, so you just stay silent. karina’s blades click softly against the ice before she kicks them off and pulls on her sneakers.
then she’s looking at you again. the look that always makes your heart clench a little too tight.
“you ever think about what happens after regionals?” she asks suddenly.
“like nationals?” she hesitates.
“no. i mean like… after us. after the season ends.”
you pause. “i haven’t. not really. why?”
but she’s already looking away, shoulders tense in a way that makes your stomach twist.
“you okay?”
“i just… it doesn’t matter.”
it does matter. you know it does, but you don’t push. instead, you laugh quietly.
“you’ll win tomorrow.”
she laughs a little brokenly. “that’s not what i’m worried about.”
you don’t ask what it is. because maybe you’re scared to hear the answer.
karina fiddles with the edge of her sleeve with her eyes fixed on the rink, but her focus is elsewhere.
“you sure you’re okay?” you ask again, softer now.
she inhales. her throat bobs as she swallows.
“i got an offer. to train in america.” she says finally.
“america?”
“yeah.”
“for summer training?”
“no. like— move there. train full time. i’d be part of a national development program.”
your stomach drops. “oh.”
“it’s… huge. like, dream level. career changing.”
“wow. that’s amazing.”
and it is. it is. but you feel the words hurting in your throat like they’re glass.
karina’s fingers flex against her knee. “i leave monday.”
silence crashes over you.
“oh.” you say again, because it’s all you can say. your voice barely comes out. she finally turns to look at you. and this time, she looks right at you.
“i wasn’t going to tell you. i didn’t want to ruin tomorrow. but then you showed up and i… i needed tonight.” she says.
your heart twists.
“so this is goodbye?” you ask and you hate how small you sound. karina’s jaw clenches. “don’t say it like that.”
“how am i supposed to say it?”
you get ready to leave and she follows.
“i didn’t ask for this. i didn’t want to leave. but your dad— he pushed for it. he said it was the only way i’d make it.” she says.
your eyes sting. “and you didn’t tell me?”
“i didn’t want to make it harder.”
“it already is.”
she’s standing right behind you now. you can feel the warmth of her breath on your shoulder.
“i would stay. if i could. i almost did.” she whispers.
you turn to face her and she’s right there. closer than she’s ever been. her eyes flick to your lips once and that’s all it takes.
you kiss her.
it’s instinctual. you don’t even mean for it to happen. you just do it. a gentle kiss pressed to her lips.
she goes very still.
you pull back the second you realize what you’ve done, already panicking.
“i— i’m sorry. that was— god, i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have—“
she grabs your wrist and pulls you in again.
she pulls you back in like she’s starved for you. your back hits the rink railing with a thud and the cold metal shocks you through your shirt, but you don’t even register it. not when she’s kissing you this messily, frantically, and desperately.
her hands are everywhere. gripping into your hair, hugging the curve of your waist, keeping herself against your hips like she’s scared that you might disappear if she lets go. and maybe she is. maybe she knows.
“karina—” you gasp in between kisses, but she cuts you off with another kiss.
“i shouldn’t. you’re the coach’s daughter. i shouldn’t—“ she murmurs against your lips, but she doesn’t stop.
she pulls back long enough to look at you, eyes revealing that she’s trying to memorize this moment. and then she kisses you again. harder.
her hands slide under your jaw, cupping your face like it’s fragile, even though she kisses you like you aren’t.
the railing rattles under your grip as your body arches into hers, needing her closer before this all slips through your fingers.
because she’s leaving soon. because this ends soon. and you both feel it.
that’s why she kisses you like this. like she’s trying to carve the memory into her brain. like she’s terrified that this might the only time that she’ll ever get to touch you like this, and she needs to make it count.
“i’m so scared. i could win everything and i’m scared of what happens if i lose you after.” she whispers, forehead against yours.
you don’t answer.
you just hold her tighter.
you stay like that. pressed between her and the railing until the lights in the rink finally begin to dim for the night.
and she pulls back, with teary eyes.
“come tomorrow. please.”
you nod.
three months after regionals.
karina didn’t mean to come back to korea for long. it was just a short break so she could breathe again. she told everyone it was to reset. to clear her head before the next competition cycle. but no amount of sleep, early morning runs or phone calls with her mother, can ever fix the ache that settled in her chest three months ago.
not since she left you.
now she walks through familiar streets with a scarf tucked around her neck, hands in her coat pockets. she doesn’t tell anyone where she’s going. just says she’s going out for a bit and slips away before anyone can ask too many questions. her feet know the route before she does. every turn.
the closer she gets to the rink, the quieter her thoughts become. she pauses at the entrance for a long time, fingers stuck at the metal door handle. thr old banner hanging above the entrance has started to peel at the corners and a few letters faded. but it’s the same. everything is the same.
except her.
when she steps inside, it hits her all at once. the soft echo of her own footsteps against the floor reminds her of it all. this is where she became who she is.
and this is where she left the person who made her feel like herself.
she doesn't lace up her skates. doesn’t even sit down. she just walks the edge of the rink slowly, one hand following the railing. she can see her reflection staring back at her in the glass. she’s more tired and her eyes are flooded with something deeper than exhaustion.
she stops near the bench where she used to sit after practice. the same bench where you handed her water bottles, chocolates, and hand warmers. the same place where she started to let herself hope.
her chest tightens.
she doesn’t know what she was expecting. a sense of closure? a ghost of you?
but instead. you’re really there.
like no time has passed at all. like a prayer she didn’t know that she was still saying. and she can feel herself breathing again.
at first, she thinks she’s imagining you.
you’re sitting on one of the benches, and your coat is pulled tight. your hands tucked into your sleeves and there's a water bottle resting beside you.
her heart stutters.
she blinks hard. more than once. and you’re still there.
she opens her mouth before she can stop herself, voice shaky and unsure for the first time in months. “…y/n?”
you look up. and that’s all it takes. karina swallows hard, taking a step forward. “is it really you?”
you nod slowly. like you can’t believe she’s real either.
“i didn’t think you’d be here.” you say quietly.
“i didn’t think you would.” she answers. “i was just just… I was passing by. I didn’t mean to—”
“you always pass by when you’re thinking too much.”
she huffs out a breath that was almost a laugh. her eyes are glassy now and she tries to blink it away but it clings.
“you look the same. but different.” she says.
“so do you.”
she hesitates before asking. “can i… come closer?” you don’t answer right away. you just shift slightly to the side on the bench to make space for her. that’s all she needs.
she walks across the empty floor slowly, skates swinging from one hand. she sits beside you, like the months between now and the last time meant nothing. or maybe they meant everything.
she finally breaks the silence with a voice that was barely above a whisper. “i skate better when you’re here.”
you turn to her and she’s already looking at you. “i don’t know why i said that,” she adds, flustered now.
but you do. you know exactly why.
you lean your shoulder against hers and she leans back, like muscle memory.
neither of you speak again for a long time. but the familiarity of the silence is inevitable. like no matter how far you run, this was always where you’d end up.
